


On The Edge Of A Golden World

by ReganX



Category: The Tudors
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-01 17:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 373,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReganX/pseuds/ReganX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes a small change can have a huge would have happened if Anne Boleyn had not miscarried her child in Episode 2.08? AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is, first and foremost, a work of fan fiction, by which I mean that it is based primarily on the characters and events in the show rather than on the historical personages and events that inspired it so, with regard to things like the characters' ages and appearances, the sequence of events, etc, I'll be going with the show's canon rather than real life.

**_29th January 1536_ **

"Two knaves," Nan Saville announced, setting her cards down. Try as she might to focus her attention on the game, her thoughts kept drifting to the chamber next door, to the woman within and to the child the woman carried, saying a silent prayer that all would go well for her mistress and that she would be able to carry her child safely to term and present the King with a living son in the summer.

"Two queens and a king." Madge Shelton responded, displaying her own hand. Like Nan, she was merely going through the motions of playing cards, scarcely paying attention to the game, even when her opponent told her that she had won.

They weren't playing for money. It was merely a way of passing the time until their mistress awoke, one of the few quiet pastimes available to them besides reading or needlework. The ladies who had opted for the latter were no more successful at distracting themselves from their worries than Nan and Madge were and it was doubtful that they produced anything fit to be used but, at the same time, it would have been worse if they had had nothing with which to occupy themselves, nothing to do but wait and worry.

As a lady-in-waiting, Jane Seymour should, strictly speaking, have been present, sharing the long hours of waiting with them, ready to tend to the Queen should she require anything, but she maintained enough tact and discretion to keep away, something that all of those who were loyal towards Queen Anne were glad of.

God knew that she had done enough damage already without her presence causing further upset.

Madge glanced back in the direction of the Queen's bedchamber and then leaned forward, her voice a hush as she asked, "Do you think I should go in and see her?"

"No," Nan responded immediately. "Let her sleep."

If she could sleep, if she could rest calmly and try to forget about what she had seen, then there might still be some hope...

A loud wail of mingled pain and fear interrupted these hopeful thoughts and Nan and Madge were on their feet in an instant, hurrying into the next room with their fellow ladies-in-waiting hard on their heels.

"What is it, Your Majesty?" Madge asked urgently, her hope that it might be a false alarm caused by a nightmare, or a minor injury or something equally trifling disappearing when she saw her cousin kneeling on the large, carved bed, crying out as she touched her bloodstained shift. "The baby!"

"My boy!" Anne's fear and anguish were etched on her face. She was as aware as any of them of the magnitude of this disaster for her and for her little daughter, Elizabeth. Her hands were warm and wet with the blood that signified that her son, her hope, was leaving her.

"Get some help!" Madge called the order to nobody in particular and one of the ladies fled, seeking a physician, a midwife, anybody who might be able to stop it.

"Hurry!" Nan urged.

"No, no, no, no, no, no!" Anne sobbed as she clutched her abdomen, pressing a hand between her legs in a desperate attempt to staunch the flow of blood, falling to her side and summoning every ounce of determination she possessed to keep her child rooted in her womb. "Please," her voice was soft and pleading as she spoke, her words addressed to the baby, hoping that he could hear her and that he would take strength from her words and hold on. He had to. "Don't leave me."

* * *

Anne's rooms were out of bounds to all save Dr Linacre, his assistants, the midwives who had been sent for in haste and a few of her ladies-in-waiting. All others who had gathered outside her suite when news of her condition began to circulate through the court were left to wait in the corridors, including her father, her brother and even her husband.

Dr Linacre was polite, his tone and words appropriately deferential when he explained to his King that he could do nothing to help them and that it would be best for all concerned if he remained outside and allowed them to do their work, unencumbered, promising that they would do all in their power to preserve the Queen and her unborn child, but there was a note of iron in his voice that dissuaded Henry from arguing with him. Linacre may not have _said_ that he would only be in the way if he insisted on being in the room with them while they worked but Henry suspected that he was _thinking_ it and that the sentiment was probably not unjustified, so he stayed outside, condemned to wait, like everybody else, unable to do anything.

Sensing that he would not thank them for engaging him in conversation and knowing that if he did speak to one of them, his temper was likely to be vile, the courtiers present avoided meeting his gaze and attracting his attention. Some of them, like Thomas and George Boleyn, were praying while others were speaking quietly amongst themselves, all of them leaving Henry alone with his thoughts... and his guilt.

He had no reason to feel guilty, he reminded himself firmly. God knew that he had done nothing wrong. Had he not promised Jane, mere moments before Anne walked in and interrupted them, that he would never again see her except in the presence of her relatives? Who could doubt that his conduct and his intentions were honourable? What harm was there in her sitting on his knee? Perhaps he ought not to have kissed her, but he had not planned to do it and who could blame a man for forgetting himself a little in the company of a pretty maiden?

Anne overreacted, imagining evil when there was none.

Katherine would never have reacted like that. She would have turned and walked away, as she ought to, and the matter would never be spoken of or even alluded to again. She would not have allowed herself to become so distressed about it and she would never have given way to such an unseemly display of anger and upset, especially if she was with child and knew that flying into a passion could harm the son she carried.

_"Why are you doing this? Why did you have to do this?"_

He would like to be able to forget the pain in Anne's voice, to tell himself that she spoke out of wounded vanity, her pride injured by the idea that he might prefer another woman to her but he could not make himself believe it.

She was truly hurt.

He had hurt her.

There was a time, not long ago, when anyone who dared to harm Anne, by word or deed, would have incurred his wrath and suffered the punishment for daring to hurt his sweetheart, a time when she was the only woman in the world for whom he had eyes.

That things had changed was undeniable but _why_ had they changed?

Was she different? Was he? Were both of them?

What had happened to them since the time when they first fell in love, a time when he looked forward to their future together as husband and wife, as King and Queen?

They were married now, and God knew that it had taken them more than enough time and struggle to achieve this. They were the parents of a beautiful little girl, a child he could never look at without marvelling at her precocity and keen intelligence, already evident even at such an early age and a clear sign of what marvels could be expected of her brother for, if God bestowed such gifts on their daughter, he would surely be even more generous towards their son.

Anne promised him a son.

The day he first asked her to be his wife and his Queen, knowing that there was only one fitting place in his life for her, she promised that she would give him a son but all she had given him was a daughter, leaving him no better off than he was before he realized that his marriage to Katherine was invalid and sought to annul it. In fact, he was worse off now. When Mary was his heiress, she was accepted as such by the English people and by the other rulers of Europe but Elizabeth's rights were challenged abroad and accepted in England only after the administration of the Oath of Succession, the oath Master Cromwell devised to protect Anne and Elizabeth and which had already cost lives, lives that could have been saved if she had given him his son, since even those who disputed Elizabeth's right to succeed ahead of her older sister would surely have rejoiced to know that there was a healthy prince in the royal nursery, a fine boy waiting to follow his father as King.

When he believed himself to be married to Katherine, God showed his displeasure by denying them the son they craved, giving them five stillborn children, a son who lived less than a month and a single living daughter. Anne had given him a daughter but she had lost a child the previous year. It was known that, in some cases, a woman might lose a child, even when there was no blame to be attached to her for the loss, and still go on to bear other children, strong, healthy sons, with time and patience. In other cases, like Katherine's, they would never be blessed with a living son, no matter how hard they tried and how fervently they prayed.

Which of these applied to Anne? Had she simply been unlucky when she lost their second child, or was his marriage to her just as accursed as his marriage to Katherine and just as unlikely to be blessed with the son that all of England needed?

He would know the answer to that question if she lost this child, he decided. One miscarriage could be put down to misfortune but two miscarriages in succession would be a clear sign that he would get no boys from her and, if that was the case, he would have no choice but to end their union and take another wife, making a marriage that would not be disputed and fathering a son and heir whose rights could not be questioned.

"Your Majesty?" Dr Linacre's voice cut into his musings. His expression was grave and, seeing him, Henry noticed for the first time that Anne's cries had stopped.

Seizing his sleeve, Henry drew his physician into a quiet corner, where they could have some semblance of privacy. His father- and brother-in-law followed him, remaining a few feet away but listening intently to what was being said. "Well?" He demanded tersely.

"The child lives, Your Majesty." Linacre told him, relieved to be able to deliver good news. "The Queen has not miscarried."

"Thank God!" Thomas Boleyn exclaimed in heartfelt tones.

"Amen." Henry seconded the sentiment, saying a silent prayer of thanksgiving. "How is the Queen?"

Dr Linacre hesitated a few moments before responding, choosing his words carefully to ensure that he did not cause offence by implying that his King might shoulder some of the blame for his wife's condition. He also had to take care not to give false hope by painting too optimistic a picture of the Queen's chances of carrying her child to term and delivering it safely, in case he could be accused of negligence if she miscarried at a later date. "It was difficult for her, Your Majesty. She lost a great deal of blood and I would be guilty of a falsehood if I claimed to be confident about her prognosis, and that of the child. It is little short of a miracle that we did not lose them both today. If she is to have a chance of carrying the child to term, then she must stay in bed between now and her delivery, with no exertion, no excitement and no distress, and with a good, wholesome diet and as much rest as possible."

Henry nodded, registering Linacre's advice and inwardly vowing that his instructions would be carried out to the letter, whatever it took to preserve Anne and the baby, but his attention had been caught by his use of the word 'miracle'.

When Anne was stricken with the sweating sickness years ago, before the trial at Blackfriars began and before Wolsey's death, she was not expected to survive but God spared her life, when thousands upon thousands were dying throughout England. He thought that it was a miracle, an omen that their marriage was meant to be. Perhaps this was their second miracle; their unborn son clinging to life against the odds.

If he did, it would be all the proof he needed that their marriage was blessed.

"May I see her?"

Dr Linacre nodded. "Of course, Your Majesty." He stepped aside to allow Henry to pass, bowing briefly before following him into Anne's bedchamber.

Anne's bed had been stripped and remade with fresh linens and her ladies had dressed her in a clean nightgown. Two of her attendants were busy bundling the bloodied sheets and shift together for disposal, as there was little chance that the stains would be able to be washed out, while a third, Madge, was holding a silver goblet steady for her as she drank.

"A calming draught, Your Majesty." Dr Linacre explained, following Henry's gaze. "To dull the pain and allow a quiet night's sleep."

Henry nodded comprehension, watching silently as Anne's delicate features contorted in a slight grimace at the bitter taste. Once she took the draught, Madge set the goblet down and helped to settle her comfortably in the bed, propping her up with pillows and tucking the covers around her.

Anne's face was pale and she lay there motionless as he sat down on the edge of the bed, taking care not to jostle her.

"Hello, sweetheart," he said gently, taking one of her hands in his. It was cold and slightly clammy to his touch, her grip weak as she closed her fingers around his hand. "How are you feeling?" She didn't answer and as soon as he asked the question, he chided himself for his foolishness. He did not need her to tell him; one look at Anne was enough to know that her ordeal had taken a terrible toll on her, sapping her strength, leaving her exhausted and in pain. Seeing tears begin to escape from beneath her half-closed eyelids, he automatically brushed them away with his free hand, cupping her chin for a moment and leaning forward to kiss her on the forehead.

"The baby…"

"He lives." He tried to smile, to keep his tone cheerful and encouraging. "Dr Linacre tells me that we will need to take care of you both, and we will. You'll be fine, so will he. Everything will be alright."

Had he been asked, even Henry wouldn't be able to say whether he was reassuring Anne or whether his words were aimed at himself.


	2. Chapter One

**_2nd February 1536_ **

Anybody who had lived at a royal court, for any length of time, knew that keeping a secret was difficult at the best of times, and nothing short of impossible the rest of the time, especially when that secret involved the King or his family. Charles Brandon, companion to the King since their shared boyhood, was well aware of that fact, just as he was aware that when a story was told often enough, details would inevitably be lost, exaggerated or altered in the retelling but even he was astounded when he returned to court, after an absence of little more than a week, to find tongues wagging about the Queen's mishap and the restrictions under which she was placed in order to ensure the survival of the child.

What made it most unusual was that it seemed as though _everybody_ was talking about it and nothing else, when there would normally be stories of at least several intriguing scandals circulating at once. From the highest-ranking nobles to the lowest of the servants, all anyone seemed to be talking about was how close the Queen had come to losing her unborn child, and what had sparked the near-disaster.

Although it seemed highly unlikely to him that Anne had entered Henry's rooms to catch him and Jane copulating on the table, as one acquaintance solemnly assured him was the case – just before he left the court to deal with business matters on his estate, Brandon was enlisted to help his friend test the newest object of his affections by delivering her a letter and a large purse of gold from him and, knowing Henry as well as any other man could, he knew that his pleasure at hearing of Mistress Seymour's refusal to accept either while she was an unmarried maiden, of having his idealized notions of her confirmed, was genuine and that he wanted more than to simply make her his next mistress – he also knew that there was rarely smoke without fire, and that it was likely that there was some truth to the rumours of Jane's involvement.

He would have dearly liked to be able to ask Henry what the truth of the story was but he knew better than to bring up the matter, knew that even their close and long-lasting friendship was no guarantee that he wouldn't rouse Henry's anger by alluding to Jane. If there had been an indiscretion and it did bear all or even part of the responsibility for Anne's state, then it was likely that Henry wanted to forget about it and he wouldn't thank Brandon for bringing the matter up, even privately, when the two of them were walking alone in the gardens with nobody close enough to overhear them.

When dealing with one's sovereign, friendship had its limits and it was a foolish man who ignored them.

Instead, he contented himself with enquiring after Anne's health, noting the concerned expression on Henry's face as he answered. Was his concern purely for the baby's sake, at the idea that he could have lost the son he had craved for almost as long as Brandon had known him, or was he also worried about Anne?

Henry could be a difficult man to read sometimes, and Brandon had learned years ago that it was better for him to tread cautiously where Anne was concerned. The last time he spoke against her to Henry's face, wanting to warn his friend of her previous relations with Thomas Wyatt in the hopes that he would realize that she was far from worthy to be his wife and consort, even if he did wish to annul his marriage to Katherine and remarry, his concerns were dismissed, with Anne's word accepted over his without question, and his punishment for speaking out was banishment from court. The experience had taught him discretion. He did not like Anne and would have been happy to see the back of her – a sentiment that he was sure that more than a few people at court shared – but Henry's feelings towards his wife could be unpredictable, especially of late, and one could never be certain if he would take offence to a slight made against her, or if he would agree with it.

It was best to wait until he knew Henry's view, and to be guided by it, so he listened in silence as his friend spoke.

"She has had a difficult time, Charles," Henry explained in a low voice, even though they were alone and Anne's condition was no secret. "Dr Linacre told me that she almost lost the baby – that she _would_ have lost him if he was not able to get to her as quickly as he did – and that she might have died too. For both their sakes, she has to stay in bed."

"For how long?"

"Until after the baby is born."

Brandon had heard as much, but wondered if it might be an exaggeration. If Anne was to be confined to bed until her delivery, then Dr Linacre must have grave concerns about her chances of carrying the baby to term. He was half-inclined to joke that there was a silver lining to the cloud; with Anne safely ensconced in her bedchamber, Henry would not need to hide it when another woman caught his eye but he thought better of it and, when he heard the genuine concern in Henry's voice as he went on to describe the further measures that Dr Linacre was taking, he was glad that he had opted for discretion.

Henry clearly did not consider this a laughing matter and he was unlikely to be happy to hear it treated as one.

"…Linacre is monitoring Anne's condition, as well as her diet and he's given instructions to her ladies-in-waiting about how to care for her and they know to inform him straight away if there's the slightest change." Henry explained, repeating Dr Linacre's instructions, not noticing that Brandon was not half as interested in the topic as he was. "He thinks that, with rest and careful tending, there is a chance that the baby will be born healthy." He brightened a little, grinning wryly. "At least I can be sure that it's a son this time," he remarked. "Only a boy, a strong boy, could hang on against the odds like that."

Brandon nodded, murmuring his assent and remembering that Henry was equally certain that Elizabeth would be a boy before she was born and proved him wrong, even going so far as to select names for his 'son' and to ask that the French ambassador hold him at the christening, as proxy for King Francis. When the baby turned out to be a daughter, she had had to settle for having an archbishop as her godfather rather than a king.

Unlike most people, Brandon put no faith in astrologers, soothsayers or their ilk when it came to predicting the sex of a baby; if the self-styled prophets predicted a son for everyone who sought their advice, their answer would please virtually all of their patrons and they were bound to be right as often as not.

"Is she allowed to have visitors?" He asked, curious about whether or not Henry was taking advantage of the fact that he was as close to a bachelor as he had been for two decades and indulging his affections for Mistress Seymour or whether he was devoting his time to Anne.

Henry nodded confirmation, squinting up at the sun to estimate the time. "It's almost noon – forgive me, Charles, I can't stay. Anne will be expecting me. It's dull for her to have to stay confined and it cheers her up to have company."

Brandon bowed slightly as Henry moved away, hastening back to the palace for a visit with his wife.

While Henry did not look as eager to see Anne as he had before their marriage, when word of her recovery from the sweating sickness first reached him, there was something in his demeanour that reminded Brandon of those days, of a time when Henry's adoration of Anne bordered on worship and when he could scarcely bear to be away from her a moment longer than he absolutely had to.

That her state of health aroused his sympathy and concern was undeniable but had she won him back, made him forget that he blamed her for Thomas More's execution and about the many problems she had brought to England since the day she first entered his life? Was she, once again, the only woman in his world?

Brandon considered the possibility for a few moments before dismissing it. Henry might feel pity towards Anne now, and if she managed to give him the son he craved, he would be delighted with her, but he was not a man who would be content to dance attendance on his sick wife and forsake the company of other women, not for four months.

He would be surprised if his friend continued to be this attentive for another week, and it would be a miracle if he kept it up for a full month, let alone for the remainder of Anne's pregnancy.

* * *

"As long as the Queen is with child, the King will never entertain the idea of discarding her," Edward Seymour stated the fact in measured tones. To somebody who had just met him, he might appear to be completely emotionless about the issue, as though he had never cared in the least whether Anne Boleyn remained Queen of England until the day she died or whether she was to be discarded the next morning. Only those who knew him well would have been able to detect the slightest of frowns creasing his brow, a tightening of his mouth and a faint edge to his tone as he spoke, subtle signs that betrayed his disappointment and anger at the situation.

"Yes," Sir John Seymour nodded at this assessment. "He will not set her aside if there is hope that she will give him a son."

"And with Queen Katherine dead, the other rulers of Europe may think it politic to acknowledge the marriage, and Anne as Queen, especially if they are hoping for England's friendship." Edward observed shrewdly, his keen mind combing over the possibilities. "But her position is not assured, not yet. There is still a chance that she will miscarry or that the child will not live, and if that happens, her position will be as bad as it would have been if she had lost the baby four days ago – worse," he corrected himself. "After all the trouble and care being taken to ensure the child's survival, it is likely that the King will be even angrier if it should come to nothing." He regarded his sister thoughtfully before turning his attention to his father. "A living son would be an end to all hope that Jane might become Queen in Anne's place, and if that's the case, I think that it would be best for her to withdraw from court rather than risk her reputation by remaining here. However if the baby does not live, then there is a good chance that she might become his wife, as long as she can hold his attentions long enough without yielding to his advances."

"What if it's a girl – a healthy girl?" Jane asked, inwardly wondering why that was a possibility that nobody seemed to be considering. Whenever she heard people talking about Anne's pregnancy, they speculated about whether the child would be a living son or if it would be stillborn, as though those were the only two options available.

Edward considered the question thoughtfully before responding. "I don't know," he admitted at last. "A great deal depends on how the King would view the matter. He may see the birth of any healthy child as a good omen, even if it is just another daughter. It would show that the Queen is still capable of bearing healthy children and that there is still hope that she will give him a son but he may not have the patience to wait any longer. He is not as young as he once was, and after his fall at the joust, he is aware of how vital it is that he has a male heir."

"Yes," Jane agreed softly, remembering how relieved she was when he told her that he viewed the ribbon she had given him to wear as her favour as a lucky charm, one that saved him from death when he fell. When he first asked to see her after the joust, she feared that he would be angry with her, and that he would think that her favour had brought him bad luck and caused his fall.

"Has he blamed you for what happened with the Queen?" Sir John asked gently.

Jane shook her head. "No. He… he has only spoken with me privately on one occasion since then," she reported, remembering the King's earlier insistence that he would only ever speak to her when her relatives were present to act as chaperones and wondering if she should worry that he had already broken the self-imposed condition. "There are others who do, though." She added, frowning at the memory of some of the things that she had heard whispered about her. If people would speak thus in her earshot, she did not want to think what they might be saying about her behind her back.

It was so unfair! The way some people spoke of her, anyone would think that she had deliberately set out to make the Queen miscarry, and nobody would have believed her if she said that all she and the King had been doing was exchanging a chaste kiss when they were interrupted.

"You should not concern yourself with that, my dear," Sir John advised her kindly. "It is just foolish gossip and it will die down in time, especially when people see that the King is still fond of you."

"And you should remember that any concern or sympathy would not be for the Queen herself," Edward remarked. "She is not well-loved at court but after what almost happened to the King, people were frightened. If he had died leaving only the Princess Elizabeth as his heir…" He trailed off, unwilling to continue along that vein. It was treason to imagine the death of the King and at court, one could never be certain that the walls did not have ears. "They are hoping for the birth of a prince and it is for his health that they are concerned, not his mother's. When they see that the King does not blame you, they will not blame you either and if you have his love, you have his protection. He will not allow anybody to speak ill of you."

"They will be doing that already," Jane said sullenly, "especially now that I am dismissed from my position as lady-in-waiting to the Queen. Sir James, her chamberlain, told me that my service in the Queen's household was no longer required, not an hour ago." She elaborated. Both Edward and Sir John looked serious when they heard that piece of news.

"Who wanted your dismissal, do you know?" Sir John asked urgently. "Was it the King or the Queen?"

"It does not matter which of them wanted it." Edward cut in before Jane could respond. "The Queen would never dare to dismiss Jane from her household without the King's approval, regardless of the circumstances, not when it was he who first invited her to come to court for the position. He has given his permission for Jane's removal – if it was not his order in the first place."

Seeing the doleful expression on his daughter's face, Sir John tried to console her. "I am sure that it is nothing but a simple act of kindness to the Queen, for the sake of the child. Her physician has ordered that she should not be upset." He said. "Or perhaps this is a blessing," he said, brightening as an optimistic thought struck him. "After all, the Queen's ladies will be kept very close to quarters over the coming months. Perhaps the King did not wish you to be kept occupied with tending to the Queen and freed you from your duties so that he might enjoy your company himself." Having found an explanation that suited him well, he was loath to let it go. "I am sure that this is the case."

"Perhaps," Edward agreed, although he did not share his father's confidence.

"What should I do?" Jane looked from her father to her brother expectantly, unsure how she should proceed and wanting their advice. "If the King asks to speak with me privately again, should I go to him, or should I remind him that he promised that we would only speak if you were present?"

Sir John was unsure how to respond and looked to Edward for an answer, knowing his eldest son well enough to trust his judgement in this matter.

"You must be careful not to anger him or quarrel with him," Edward said at last. "Under the present circumstances, his temper will be uncertain and, should he become angry with you, there will be many other women at court who would wish to seize the opportunity to win his affections. It would not surprise me if Lord Wiltshire, or even the Queen herself, tried to encourage the King to turn his attention to another lady, one of their choosing," he remarked, remembering the rumours that once circulated around the court during the King's dalliance with Madge Shelton, the whispers that it had been the Boleyns who encouraged the young woman to become his mistress in the hopes of distracting him from other women, who might work against them.

"I will." Jane promised. "Maybe I could persuade him to bring Princess Mary back to court," she suggested hopefully. "She has no love for the Queen – and she is in need of friendship." She added, imagining the lonely, unhappy existence of the girl who had gone from being the King's cherished daughter, his princess and the heir to the throne, to being declared a bastard and being forced to wait on her young half-sister, the child who had usurped her position, and now she had lost her mother, without even being permitted to say goodbye.

Even if she truly was a bastard, it would be cruel to treat her like that.

"If you speak of Mary, be very careful." Edward warned her. "Speak in her favour, by all means – it could win us the friendship of the Imperial ambassador and his master – but you must never suggest that he was wrong to name her a bastard or to send her to wait on the Princess Elizabeth. He will not tolerate that – and he certainly will not agree to restore her as a princess at your request," he added, guessing that his sister would dearly love to be able to do just that. "Above all, you must not yield to his advances and become his mistress, even if he presses you, not when affairs are so uncertain. Wait until we know more, then we will know what to do."

* * *

"The Emperor is seeking to form an alliance with the King, and the King of France is also making overtures of friendship." Like the few others who were allowed to visit Anne, Thomas Boleyn had been well warned about the dangers of upsetting or exciting her and he therefore kept his tone light and cheerful as he related news of the latest diplomatic developments, putting it in the most optimistic light possible. "Now that Katherine is dead, the Ambassador Chapuys has said that the Emperor is willing to convince the pope not to excommunicate the King, to pledge his support to your marriage and to acknowledge you as Queen of England. I don't need to tell you that this could help to secure your position in the eyes of Europe." He prompted, frowning when Anne didn't respond.

"If he is sincere." She said at last, gazing into the fire behind him rather than meeting his eyes.

"Perhaps he is." He said, as cheerfully as if he had never had any doubts about the matter. "Under the circumstances, it is not an offer that he would make lightly, and the fact that he has considered it in the first place can certainly do you no harm."

"Unless he wants something in return," Anne pointed out, tearing her gaze away from the blazing logs in the fireplace and looking up at him. "Like Mary's restoration as princess..."

"That will not happen." Her father assured her immediately. "Elizabeth is the King's heir, and she will remain his heir until her brother is born." Anne merely shrugged by way of response, slumping back against the pillows.

Dr Linacre had warned them about the possibility of Anne becoming melancholic, stressing that it was important that she be kept in cheerful spirits, as much as possible, for the sake of the child she carried, so Thomas dropped the subject of the Emperor.

He considered making mention of the fact that Mistress Seymour had been dismissed from her position as lady-in-waiting, something Anne had wanted since she was first told that the other woman was to join her household but he decided against it, not wanting to be the one to bring up the woman if Anne did not and risk provoking her.

He felt a flash of irritation towards his daughter; he warned her not to allow herself to be upset by a trifle, reminded her that she should concern herself with making sure that she gave the King the healthy son he craved and that once she accomplished that, she would be able to deal with Mistress Seymour as she saw fit, for there would be little that he would deny her if she gave him a prince. She was very lucky that she hadn't lost the baby and she wouldn't be confined to bed now if she had only listened to him instead of seeking out trouble.

The sounds of footsteps and the clatter of dishes heralded the arrival of the servers bearing Anne's dinner and Madge Shelton entered the bedchamber, dropping a deep, respectful curtsey and waiting for Anne to nod permission before she lifted a low, folding table and carefully placed it over Anne's knees, checking to ensure that it was secure before curtseying a second time and withdrawing.

As a rule, meals for Henry and Anne and even for little Elizabeth were very formal occasions, with an elaborate serving ceremony involving a large group of servers but since Anne was now confined to her bed, no men were permitted to visit, apart from her family and physician, and that restriction extended to servants, which meant that her meals were laid out in the outer chamber before her ladies-in-waiting brought the plates in to her.

Anne accepted the plate of food without enthusiasm, nibbling at a slice of chicken before setting it aside and using her fork to spear a piece of asparagus – included in every meal prepared for her, as they were known to make a boy – but she didn't touch it, putting her fork down as quickly as she had picked it up.

The temptation to snap at her, to order her to eat for the sake of the child, was strong and it was with difficulty that he reined in his tongue. He was thankful for that a moment later, when a familiar voice spoke from the doorway.

"Sweetheart, you need to eat." Henry's voice was lightly chiding as he entered the room, acknowledging his father-in-law and his deep bow of greeting with a nod and moving to stand next to Anne, bending down to brush a kiss against her cheek before sitting down in the chair that Thomas had hastily vacated for him. "If there's something else you'd like instead, we can send for it." He offered.

"No, this is fine." She shook her head, lifting her fork to her lips and eating the asparagus, as if to prove the truth of her words.

"Good." He smiled, scarcely noticing when Thomas asked for leave to withdraw and nodding permission automatically, without sparing him a glance, his attention focused entirely on his wife, although he did not say anything for a few moments. "Are they taking good care of you?" He said at last, breaking the silence that was becoming uncomfortable.

"Yes," Anne nodded, slightly amused by the unnecessary question; Henry made sure to be kept fully informed of everything that was happening as far as her health was concerned, and Dr Linacre had explained his restrictions and the regimen of care he was implementing to him in great detail. Nobody was going to take any chances with this pregnancy, and nobody would have dared to offer her anything other than exemplary care.

"Good." He said again. At a loss for something to do, Henry reached for the empty glass goblet on her tray and the silver carafe beside it, filling the goblet with clear ruby-red liquid; Linacre had prescribed red wine daily, to help build up the blood Anne had lost, but directed that it should be watered to ensure that the child she carried was not overpowered by it. He passed Anne the goblet, watching as she slowly sipped it and then took it from her hand when she was finished with it.

He wasn't sure what he should say to her but, at the same time, he felt that he had to say something so he chatted lightly about various matters; the cradle that was being built for their son, the fact that he and his council were discussing the idea of reopening negotiations with King Francis over the possibility of a betrothal between Elizabeth and his youngest son, something Anne often advocated, the puppy he had ordered to be brought to her as soon as it was weaned, anything to fill the silence.

From the doorway, Thomas Boleyn watched with keen, appraising eyes, missing nothing. He had made a habit of observing the King's interactions with his daughter for years, ever since he and his brother-in-law had first planned to push her forward as his mistress, and while he could see plainly that he was not as in love with Anne as he once was, his manner was still friendly, considerate and gentle towards her.

It was a good beginning.

* * *

Hatfield was not one of the largest royal residences, or the most luxurious but it was still a pleasant dwelling, with extensive grounds, an ideal place for a little princess and her household, far enough away from London to ensure that it was as safe from contagion as any other place in England could be, yet close enough to allow for frequent visits.

The King may have been disappointed in the sex of his first child by his Concubine, but that did not keep him from providing for the little bastard royally, Chapuys thought sourly as he waited in the large, high-ceilinged room with his small retinue.

Had the Princess Mary been sent to live here with a household of her own, it would not have been an unfitting dwelling for her but instead she was here as a maid-in-waiting to her young half-sister, obliged to care for the child and attend to her needs and wishes. Even if she was illegitimate and Elizabeth a princess in truth instead of in name alone, Chapuys would not think that it was fitting for a cousin of the Holy Roman Emperor and the granddaughter of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella to be forced to wait on the child of Anne Boleyn, daughter of a mere knight who had only climbed to the rank of earl through the King's infatuation with his daughter.

This was the first time that he had been allowed to visit Hatfield, as he had not been allowed to meet with the Princess since she was sent here, condemned to a servant's existence as punishment for refusing to yield to her father's wishes and acknowledge that his marriage to her mother was invalid. The letters she had been able to get to him spoke of the ill-treatment meted out to her, of the fact that she was given the worst room in the house, scarcely fit for a menial and of the disrespect she was shown every day by the ladies who tended to little Elizabeth.

Chapuys knew that the only reason he was being permitted to see Mary now was that the King was eager to embrace an alliance with the Emperor, but despite the importance of the alliance, he was not prepared to give permission for this visit without imposing certain conditions of his own, conditions that he surely knew the Imperial ambassador would find difficult to stomach. Unpleasant as the conditions were, however, they would have to be borne. The Emperor had no desire to see the King of England opt for an alliance with France instead and he had ordered his ambassador to comply with the demands.

"Make way for the Princess Elizabeth, make way!"

The call preceded the arrival of a small procession, with two servants flanking a fair haired toddler, whose governess held her by the hand and who was followed by a group of about half a dozen ladies, including the one Chapuys had come to see.

Stopping in front of Chapuys, Lady Bryan turned slightly to address her small charge. "Your Highness, this is the Imperial ambassador. Your Excellency," she addressed her next words to Chapuys, a slight glint of humour in her eyes betraying that she knew just how displeasing this was for him. "Allow me to present Her Highness, the Princess Elizabeth."

"Your Highness." He greeted her stiffly, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as he looked down on the face of the little girl in front of him. Although the child's hair was fair, unlike her dark-haired parents, and her resemblance to her father was undeniable, all Chapuys could see when he looked at her was a miniature of Anne Boleyn, the woman who had set England and Europe on its ears, destroyed the true Church in England, depriving the people of their faith, and caused such pain and heartbreak for Queen Katherine, a woman he admired and respected from the day he met her, and to her daughter.

If he had hoped that this greeting would satisfy his obligation to pay his respects to the child, he was doomed to be disappointed.

Young as she was, Elizabeth could sense that there was something amiss and that was not a state of affairs that she was prepared to tolerate.

She extended a chubby hand to him for a kiss, a near-perfect imitation of a gesture she had seen her mother perform. "Bow." She prompted him seriously, as though she thought that he might not be aware of the proper protocol for an audience with her and needed to be reminded how to behave.

But for the knowledge that refusal to comply would result in future visits with Mary being forbidden, Chapuys would not have been able to heed this instruction but he was an intelligent man and knew that he could help the young girl more by ensuring that he could continue to keep in contact with her than he would with a refusal to acknowledge her little rival.

He took the tiny hand in his and bowed low, brushing his lips against it for a heartbeat before releasing it and turning his attention to Mary, steeling himself for his next unpleasant duty. "Lady Mary." His bow to her was far shallower than the one he made to little Elizabeth and although he knew that she was aware of the reason why he was not addressing her by her rightful title, it did not make it any easier for him to omit it in favour of the title her father decreed would be hers or to pretend that the Concubine's little bastard was a rightful princess.

"Your Excellency." Mary curtsied slightly in response, giving him a small smile to reassure him that she understood why he was addressing her thus and that she didn't blame him for it.

Lady Bryan, satisfied that the formalities had been respected, that the Imperial ambassador had acknowledged the toddler princess before he greeted her half-sister, given her her dues as a Princess of England, and that he had done so before witnesses, gave him a curt nod of approval, indicating that he might speak with the Lady Mary. However, while she escorted her little charge out of the room, with the two servants preceding them and three of the ladies following, two ladies remained behind as witnesses to the meeting between the ambassador and the former princess.

As soon as Elizabeth departed with her retinue, Chapuys extended his hand to take Mary's, bowing deeply before kissing it. "Forgive me, Your Highness," he said in Spanish. He didn't need to elaborate. She knew what he was apologizing for.

"I understand, Your Excellency." Mary assured him, also in Spanish. She was glad that her mother had taught her the language as a child, and that they had often spoken it together when they were alone. But for that, every word of their conversation would be overheard by prying, unfriendly ears.

Their two witnesses, chosen for their task because of their devotion to Elizabeth and their families' known loyalty to the King and to Anne, were clearly irritated by this deliberate use of a tongue that neither of them spoke and Mary did not doubt that word of this act of defiance would be passed on to her father but she reasoned that his instructions regarding the behaviour expected of her during this meeting, relayed through Master Cromwell, made no mention of which language she was expected to speak in, so she was not disobeying any command.

"How are you feeling, Your Highness?" Chapuys asked solicitously. "I heard that you were unwell. I hope that you are recovered now."

"Yes, thank you." She told him, indicating her surroundings with a wave of her hand and giving him a wry look. "Well enough to return to my duties, as you can see." Although her father had given his permission for her to leave Elizabeth's household while she was ill – an act of kindness that had angered his Concubine to no end, if rumour could be trusted – the respite was a temporary one, much to Mary's disappointment, and once his physician pronounced her recovered, she was immediately sent back to her ignoble position as one of her little sister's attendants. "How is my cousin, the Emperor?"

"He is well, Your Highness, and hopes to be able to enter into a friendship with your father, the King."

"And do you think that my father will agree to it?"

"That is my hope, yes."

"But what about the harlot?" Mary asked, knowing as well as Chapuys did that her father would never consent to an alliance with any ruler who refused to acknowledge that Anne was his legitimate wife and Queen. It was a point of principle for him, one from which he was unlikely to be moved.

Chapuys hesitated, reluctant to give her news that would come as a blow, perhaps even as a betrayal from the cousin who had been her staunchest ally, and her mother's. "The Emperor is prepared, for the sake of the alliance, to support the continuation of the King's marriage to the Lady Anne, if that is what it takes to secure a lasting friendship with England." He said, grimacing slightly at the thought and seeing from the expression on Mary's face that the news was just as much of a blow to her as he had feared.

An acknowledgement of Anne as Queen, coming from Queen Katherine's own nephew would, in some eyes, be tantamount to an admission that the King's first marriage had truly been invalid and that, by extension, the girl standing before him was truly a bastard.

When it came to diplomacy, sacrifices of principle were not uncommon, but while Chapuys was shrewd enough and experience enough to know this, it still went against the grain for him to go along with it, not when he witnessed Queen Katherine's brave struggle to fight for her position and that of her daughter for so long, despite all the hardships she was forced to endure as a result.

"If he agrees to acknowledge the Concubine as Queen, it will only be on condition that Your Highness is restored to the succession as the King's legitimate heir, as you ought to be by right." He hastened to assure her. "I have made that plain to Master Cromwell."

"Ahead of Elizabeth?" She asked.

"That is what he hopes. However," his innate honesty forced him to continue, "he has accepted that it may be possible that we will have to settle for your restoration behind the Concubine's children, male and female – but that too would be a victory rather than a loss for us," he hastened to assure her. "As long as we can force the King to admit your right to succeed, in principle, we will have made a good beginning and from there, we can work towards improving your position. As you know," although they were speaking in Spanish and would not be understood, he still lowered his voice before continuing, "there are many people in England who would rather see you as their next ruler than the brat, Elizabeth."

"And ahead of a son?" Mary pointed out bleakly. There were very few people in the country who truly believed that a woman, regardless of how intelligent or well-educated she was, could be capable of ruling as well as a man, so while she might be preferred as the next Queen of England ahead of Elizabeth, especially when Elizabeth was so young, she suspected that for most, their clear preference would be for a male heir and they would accept Anne's son ahead of her.

If they wanted to, most of the English people would be able to convince themselves that Anne's son was born in wedlock, especially now that Mary's mother was dead, no longer able to lay claim to the titles of wife or Queen.

Chapuys did not answer.

"My father will not agree to restore me to the succession, before or after _her_ children, not if he has hope for a son." Much as she loved her father, much as she wished to believe that he still loved and cared for her and that he would want to restore her rights, if only he could do so without loss of face, Mary couldn't deceive herself on that score. "If she gives him a living boy, he will not allow any question over his right to succeed." She stated flatly, knowing that Chapuys could not reassure her that she was mistaken.

He knew that she was right.

If Anne carried her child to term, and the child was a healthy boy, then Mary's father would never consent to her being named in the line of succession.

So much depended on that and, until she was delivered, everything was uncertain, for all of them.


	3. Chapter Two

**_27th February 1536_ **

Even from the corridor outside Anne's suite, music could be heard, as it had been every day for the past few weeks and as he entered his sister's rooms, George flashed a grin in Mark Smeaton's direction and received a grin in response, although the other man's playing did not falter for an instant. The musician could not be allowed to set foot in Anne's bedchamber to play for her, that would be unthinkable under the present circumstances, but that did not mean that he could not play from the outer chamber, where her ladies sat and sewed or read or played cards when they were not with Anne, keeping a watchful vigil at her side. Untroubled by the restriction, Mark played for hours each day, to soothe and amuse his unseen audience.

As soon as George entered, Nan Saville set aside the tiny gown she was sewing, part of the elaborate layette being prepared for the coming child, and slipped into Anne's bedchamber to announce her visitor and to help her get ready to receive him.

George took advantage of the opportunity to tug on Mark's sleeve, halting his playing and drawing him to a quiet corner for a quick word. "How was she this morning?"

"Tired, as far as I could tell," Mark reported in a low voice, "though they did not tell me much, obviously." He smiled slightly. "Mistress Porter did tell me that I should play only slow songs and soothing tunes, no lively dancing measures." He commented wryly. "She thinks that they disturb Her Majesty too much."

It was all George could do to keep from snorting with derisive laughter at this latest restriction. While some of the measures being taken to protect Anne and her baby were sensible, like the enforced rest and the care being taken to ensure that her diet was bland and wholesome, this one was utterly ridiculous. Anne loved music, and had since she was a small child. No tune Mark played could possibly hurt her in any way but if a new constraint was decreed for the sake of her health, then there would be no getting around it, whether Anne liked it or not.

"Who is Mistress Porter?" He asked instead, looking around the room, scanning it for an unfamiliar face. He was certain that there was nobody by the name of Porter among his sister's ladies-in-waiting and there hadn't been any talk of impending new arrivals when he visited yesterday.

While places in the Queen's household were normally much sought-after, that wasn't the case at the moment. Anne's position was not yet secure, so families didn't want to tie their daughters to a Queen who might be repudiated if she failed to supply the required son and heir, and young women weren't anxious to join a household that was virtually isolated from the rest of the court, condemned to a quiet, staid existence until their mistress was well enough to get up and attend banquets and entertainments again.

"She arrived today, shortly before breakfast." Mark explained, his eyes sparkling with mirth at the recollection. "Dr Linacre apparently thought that it would be best to have a midwife attached to the Queen's household until her delivery, to supervise her care and to make sure that the ladies know how best to nurse her." He chuckled softly. "Wait until you meet her!"

"Why?" George was intrigued.

Mark merely shook his head, refusing to elaborate any further. "You'll see it for yourself soon enough, my lord," he promised, the respectful mode of address sounding more like an endearment than an honourific, coming from him. He lowered his voice even more, glancing to make sure that the ladies weren't paying them the slightest attention before speaking. "Will you..." He did not need to complete the question.

George nodded, smiling as he stroked his arm briefly before withdrawing his hand, knowing that if suspicion should fall on them, it could mean Mark's death and, in his case, even having the Queen as his sister – or the Prince for his nephew – might not be able to save him. "Tonight." He whispered.

"Lord Rochford?" Nan Saville spoke from the doorway, curtseying when he turned to look at her. "Her Majesty is ready to receive you now."

"Thank you." Moving away from Mark, George strode into his sister's chamber, pulling a chair closer to the bed and sitting down, taking one of her hands in his. "How are you today?" He asked cheerfully.

"Bored." Her response was matter of fact, and the same as the answer she had given him each day this week. Nan had propped her up with pillows in preparation for the visit, and she wore a white silk wrap trimmed with lace around her shoulders. Her dark hair was loose, carefully combed so that it flowed past her shoulders in a curtain of black silk, and her face was pale but without the dark shadows that had been under her eyes in the first couple of weeks after she almost lost her child.

George might not be a physician, but to his eye his sister did not look ill, just a little tired, perhaps, and he could definitely agree that boredom was probably her worst complaint at the moment. When she first became ill, she accepted the restrictions placed on her without a murmur of protest, undoubtedly glad of the opportunity to rest, but now that she was recovering her physical strength, he wondered how long it would be before she began to truly chafe at the restrictions she was under, demanding to be allowed out of bed and insisting that there was no need for her to be kept as a virtual prisoner in her own apartments, under constant supervision, or for her diet and activities to be monitored so diligently.

Their father was already anticipating this and instructed George that he should warn him straight-away if there was any sign that Anne might rebel against the restrictions, to make sure that he could intervene before she said something to the King, which could prove to be disastrous for them; if she argued with him over the restrictions and he refused to consent to their being lifted, he would be angry with her for asking in the first place, angry that she was showing herself to be unwilling to protect their child. Worse still, if he did agree that she might get up and she miscarried the child, he would blame her for that and his fury would be terrible.

"Never mind," he said cheerfully, patting her hand. "It won't be much longer now, right?"

Anne raised an eyebrow at that, wondering if George was teasing her; after four weeks in bed, she was more than ready to leave it but it was going to be another three months before the baby was born – longer, if it was a few weeks late, as babies sometimes were.

"How is the baby?" George asked, concerned. None of the Boleyns needed to be told that Anne was carrying their fortune in her womb. If the child was a healthy boy, then their power and position would be assured. He would be the uncle of the next King of England and, should the King not survive to see his new son reach manhood – as his recent jousting accident proved could be the case, all too easily – then his father would be Lord Protector and de facto King of England until the boy came of age.

Anne smiled, her hand straying to her abdomen. "Fine – he kicks a lot. His legs are strong."

"That's good."

Outside, they heard the door into Anne's quarters opening to admit somebody, and then the sound of brisk footsteps preceded the arrival of a tall woman in a plain black gown, with a snow-white apron, cap and collar. She looked to be in her forties and while she was not fat by any means, she was heavily built and looked strong. She carried a small glass goblet in one hand, filled with a thick green liquid with the consistency of watered honey.

"Your tonic, Your Majesty." She said, dropping a curtsey as she passed Anne the goblet. Her tone and manner were respectful but George got the distinct impression that the woman was far from over-awed by his sister's rank. "Drink up, madam." She prompted firmly when Anne made no move to take the dose. "Dr Linacre has prepared it for you. It will strengthen you, and the child you carry."

Anne eyed the green liquid dubiously, steeling herself to take it. Dr Linacre was an excellent physician, she didn't deny that, but virtually all of the medicines and tonics he prepared tasted vile and this one, designed especially to strengthen her during her pregnancy, was no exception.

Mistress Porter did not say anything but she stood there, watching her and waiting for her to comply, clearly unwilling to budge until she did. Her demeanour reminded Anne of Mrs Orchard, the nurse who had assumed virtually full charge of her and her siblings after their mother's death, when Anne was even younger than her little daughter was now, and that memory was encouragement enough for her to down the tonic in one gulp, swallowing it as fast as she could, before the taste could linger in her mouth.

She was pretty confident that her rank would be enough of a barrier to the midwife utilizing her nurse's technique and pinching the nose of a reluctant patient in order to get their medicine into them, whether they liked it or not, but something about Mistress Porter suggested that she could never be entirely certain of what she would or wouldn't be prepared to do.

Nodding in satisfaction, Mistress Porter took the goblet from her and dropped a second curtsey, before withdrawing.

"Where did you find her?" George asked in hushed tones, amused. He could picture the woman issuing instructions to Mark about the kinds of music that he could and could not play for Anne and imagined that it would not be long before she had put the fear of God into every one of Anne's ladies-in-waiting, if she hadn't already done so.

"I didn't. Dr Linacre did."

"She's a dragon!" He declared in a whisper. "Surely there were others he could have picked, nicer women." He suggested, picturing a plump, motherly matron, someone who would be able to care for Anne tenderly and keep her spirits up with good humour.

Anne shrugged, biting her lower lip to keep from giggling. "I think that he went out of his way to pick the sternest of them all."

"Maybe he thought that's what you needed." George suggested, only half in jest, thinking of his father's warning about what would happen if Anne decided to rebel against the restrictions imposed on her. "You'd wrap a nice one around your little finger and she'd let you do whatever you wanted and break all the rules and that wouldn't do you or the child any good..."

"I don't need somebody to force me to be careful." Anne said quietly, all traces of humour leaving her voice and her face. She laid a hand on the swell of her abdomen, closing her eyes for a moment as the baby moved within her. "I know how important it is for the baby to be born healthy, George, believe me."

"I know." He said gently.

"How is the King?"

"You see him everyday," George reminded her, puzzled. "Why do you need to ask me?"

"It's different. When he visits, it's... he's kind to me," she said, trying to put her thoughts into words, "but he's distant; he kisses me on the cheek and sometimes holds my hand for a few minutes but that's all, and when he talks he tells me some good news, or talks about little things but he never speaks about the important things, like the monasteries or the Emperor or..."

"Because he doesn't want you to be worried," George cut her off, trying to sound confident and reassuring. "He's being gentle, for the sake of your health. He's concerned for you."

"For me or for the baby?"

"For both of you." He said firmly, hoping for his sister's sake that his words were true. "He's never missed a day to visit you, has he? He's never been short-tempered or out of sorts or anything like that?" Anne confirmed this with a slight nod. "Well, what more proof do you need?" He asked persuasively. "If all he cared about was the baby, then there are plenty of physicians and midwives who can tend to him and make sure that he had everything he needs. He comes here to see you."

"Does he still spend time with Mistress Seymour?" George's uncomfortable expression was all the answer she needed. "He does, doesn't he?"

"It's nothing!" George insisted. "He's bored and he's lonely with you kept in here and she amuses him, that's all."

"Is it?" Anne asked bleakly, remembering the awful moment when she walked into the room and found them there, Jane on Henry's knee, the tenderness and devotion in his eyes as he kissed her, sentiments that were once directed exclusively at her.

It was a memory that was never going to leave her.

"It's nothing for you to worry about." George insisted. "He's so busy that he doesn't have much time for her, he's in here with you more often than he is with her – and Norris said that the last time he saw them walking together, the King looked distracted." He added brightly, determinedly ignoring the fact that the optimistic news could have stemmed as much from Norris' admiration for Anne and his heartfelt wish for things to go well for her as from what the man had actually witnessed.

Anne nodded half-heartedly and didn't say anything for a few minutes. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. "I wish that Mary was here."

During her first pregnancy, her older sister's presence was an invaluable source of support, with Mary always able to sense when she was upset and always ready to provide her with a confidante and reassurance whenever she needed either. She had missed her sister very much since her banishment and had been very tempted, on more than one occasion, to invite her back to court, refraining from doing so only because she knew exactly how her father would react.

"Father said that she is no longer part of the family and he won't see her again." George reminded her unnecessarily, before a cheering thought struck him. "But under the circumstances, I'd say that if you want Mary here with you, he'll send for her straight away and she'll be here within the week. Would you like me to ask him to bring her here for you?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll ask him." He promised. Hearing approaching footsteps, together with calls to make way for the King, George rose, smiling at his sister. "I'd better make room for your next visitor," he remarked. "Take care of yourself."

"I will." She promised.

Henry entered Anne's apartments just as George was leaving, greeting him when he bowed and stepping aside to let him pass, before making a beeline for the newest member of Anne's household, quizzing her about his wife's condition and listening intently as Mistress Porter filled him in on her morning, thanking her for her assurances that Anne was as well as could be expected, under the circumstances, and for her vigilance.

Norris and Brereton, who accompanied him as far as Anne's apartments, were allowed no further than the outer chamber and they remained there, Norris moving to speak with Madge Shelton while Brereton stood alone, looking rather awkward. He was never fully at his ease among the ladies, something Henry noticed before.

"I have some good news for you, sweetheart," he announced without preamble as he sat down next to Anne's bed, presenting the item he held with a flourish. It was a flat, circular jewel box, crafted from mother of pearl and lavishly embellished with gold and when she opened it, she lifted out a necklace of diamonds and sapphires that sparkled when they caught the light from the fire. "King Francis sent this for you," he explained. "He wants us to make a treaty of perpetual friendship – and he has reopened negotiations for the marriage of his youngest son to Elizabeth through his ambassadors. Cromwell thinks that we will be able to arrange the match very soon." He said, knowing how much Anne hoped that their daughter would marry a French prince when the time came.

"I'm glad." Her smile was genuine but experience had taught her not to accept such offers at face value and that the French King had no qualms about supporting her one day, only to turn on her the next. "Did the ambassadors mention Mary?" She asked cautiously, remembering the last time they broached a betrothal, and the way that King Francis, initially agreeable to the match, had a change of heart without warning, refusing to betroth the young Duke of Anglomeme to Elizabeth on the grounds that her legitimacy was not accepted by the pope and offering instead to arrange a betrothal between the Dauphin and the Lady Mary, an insult that had enraged her husband and called her own position into question.

_"Francis won't accept the betrothal!" The words were flung at her, a parting blow in their heated exchange when she raised the subject of his mistresses, a topic he was not prepared to discuss, not with her at any rate._

_"Why?"_

_"Why do you think?" He snapped impatiently. "Because the pope, and the Emperor and he all agree; she is a bastard, and you are not my wife!"_

Henry, remembering the same incident, frowned briefly before giving her a reassuring smile. "They didn't mention Mary – why would they, when they were arranging a match between a French prince and the Princess of England?" He asked lightly, as though mention of his eldest daughter's marriage prospects during the negotiations would be inappropriate and entirely unthinkable, as though it had not happened the last time he spoke with the French ambassador on the matter. "Master Cromwell and I will see to the arrangements, and then when the baby is born and you're feeling better, we might invite King Francis to visit us here, or go to France to visit him." He suggested, remembering their visit there, three years ago.

It would be an understatement to say that he and King Francis had had their differences over the years, but the other monarch had been the first in Europe to pledge his support to him in his quest to marry Anne, support that had helped to give them the courage to take the final step. Even if Francis had sometimes been swayed by the Emperor into withdrawing his support, Henry did not forget that.

"I'd like that, and to see Elizabeth," she added. It wouldn't be until after the baby was born and she was churched that she would be able to travel to visit Hatfield and she could not bear the idea of not seeing her daughter for so long.

"Then I'll send a messenger to Lady Bryan and tell her that she is to come here with Elizabeth for a visit." Henry promised. "If I write today, she'll be here by the end of the week."

Anne smiled. "Thank you."

* * *

"This is bad." Edward Seymour announced without preamble as soon as he, his father and his sister were alone together in the quarters his father was assigned when the family came to court. "The King has decided to pursue the betrothal of the Princess Elizabeth to the youngest son of the French King. It is possible that he may decide to pursue an alliance with France rather than Spain. The Queen and her family favour French interests," he added, a slight frown creasing his forehead at the unpleasant thought that Anne might now be exercising her influence over the King to sway him in favour of a French alliance, which was more likely to work in her favour given that she had friends in France and was careful to cultivate the French envoys when they visited, and against an Imperial alliance, which could mean Mary's restoration and could even provide a reason for Anne's own removal, should she fail to deliver a healthy son.

"If the betrothal between Princess Elizabeth and a French prince is finalized, it will be tantamount to a declaration that King Francis now believes her to be legitimate." Sir John pointed out needlessly. "If he agrees to the betrothal, then even if the marriage never takes place, it will be a clear move in favour of the Queen and Princess Elizabeth."

"And against Princess Mary." Jane put in, indignant on the young girl's behalf. "If Elizabeth is legitimate, then her sister can't be."

"That's right." Edward agreed. He lowered his voice. "I spoke with the Imperial ambassador. He told me that when the Emperor first broached the possibility of an alliance with the King, he pledged to acknowledge the Queen, provided that Princess Mary was restored to the succession as a legitimate heir, ahead of Princess Elizabeth."

"That would be a very generous offer, and a very fair one." Jane opined, brightening at the thought. Surely no father could deny his daughter her rightful position under such circumstances, especially since the King could claim to Queen Anne that he only agreed to restore Princess Mary for her sake and that of her daughter, in order to convince the Emperor to acknowledge their positions, if he was afraid of offending or upsetting her.

"His Majesty refused." Edward stated flatly.

"As a negotiation tactic?" Sir John queried, knowing as well as he that no monarch or diplomat would ever come out openly with his demands, or yield to those of his would-be ally too quickly. An element of subterfuge was often necessary, either by presenting a list of demands that would never be accepted and allowing oneself to be 'persuaded' to negotiate on certain conditions or by refusing the initial offer presented by the other side and making a show of reluctance before accepting, all in the hopes of securing the best possible deal.

"Perhaps, but I doubt it, as does Ambassador Chapuys." Edward told them. "He believes that while His Majesty has hope for a son, he will never consent to acknowledge Princess Mary as legitimate, or as a potential successor, for fear of creating a rival for the Prince." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "He tells me that Master Cromwell has written to her, on behalf of the King, ordering her to take the Oath of Succession."

There was silence for a few moments as Jane and Sir John digested his words. Sir John, like his sons, had signed the Oath when it was presented to him, his loyalty to his King preventing him from doing otherwise, and he had no intention of breaking his oath, should he be called upon to fulfil its terms, but that did not mean that he agreed with everything contained in the Oath, or that he believed that its refusal should merit a sentence of death.

Princess Mary, like her mother, had been commanded to sign the Oath and they were threatened with imprisonment, even execution if they refused to obey. Both had staunchly refused and, for a while, it seemed as though the King might relent, accept that they would not be swayed by either coaxing or threats and cease pressuring them to sign, especially when Katherine was ill, but if the issue was to be raised again, would he be prepared to drop it this time if his eldest daughter refused?

"If she signs, even under duress, it will weaken her position." Sir John said, seeing his son nod his agreement to this point and knowing that it would be something that those who supported Anne and Elizabeth would wish to see happen, for that very reason. "If she declares herself to be a bastard, if she denies her right to a place in the succession, then there will be fewer people who will be willing to champion those rights."

"Surely the King will not take it so far," Jane protested, thinking of the man who sounded so humble when he begged to be allowed to serve her, as though she was a Queen and he merely a humble petitioner who counted it an honour to be her servant. "He has asked that we go riding with him tomorrow," she reminded them, smiling her relief at the memory of how the King stressed that his invitation extended to her father and her brother as well as herself and at the assurance it gave her that he still respected her and did not seek just another conquest, a mistress easily taken up and just as easily discarded. "If I speak to him, I might be able to persuade him..."

"Suggest that he give her time." Edward instructed her firmly. "Don't say anything about exempting Princess Mary from taking the Oath, His Majesty won't like that, but if you can, try to persuade him to give her more time before he presses the issue any further. That is the best thing you can do for her under the present circumstances. What she needs – what we all need – is time."

* * *

"I have bad news for you, my friend," Chapuys said in his faintly accented English as soon as he drew William Brereton, one of the few people in England and the only man at the English court that he could trust implicitly.

"What has happened?" Brereton asked, instantly on alert. "Is the Princess Mary well? The harlot has not... attempted anything?" Since Katherine's death, since Chapuys confided in him that the black growth around her heart indicated that she had been poisoned, he feared for Mary's life. Anne was abed, under constant, close supervision to safeguard the life of the child she carried but, while that would prevent her from acting against Mary by natural means, for fear of discovery and her well-deserved punishment, who knew what the witch could accomplish by unnatural means?

"The Princess is well but in somewhat low spirits, as I am sure you can imagine." Chapuys told him. "She is brave and true, a worthy daughter to the sainted Queen Katherine but for her to have to serve the Concubine's little bastard, Elizabeth... it is an indignity that she is finding more and more difficult to bear with each passing day."

"Poor Mary." Brereton murmured sympathetically, before confiding his own news. "The King has sent for Elizabeth, at the harlot's request. She is to come to court for a visit."

"And Princess Mary?" Chapuys asked.

"She was not mentioned. I do not believe that she is to accompany her."

Chapuys nodded. He hadn't truly expected anything else; since Mary was first ordered to Hatfield when Elizabeth was born, condemned to wait on the infant who had usurped her place as a princess and in the King's heart, she was not invited back to court, even when Elizabeth was brought there and when the King visited Hatfield, he never spoke to his elder daughter, and only acknowledged her once, when he saw her standing on the balcony, watching him and his fatherly feelings towards his child would not allow him to ignore her entirely.

His Concubine was the only one of the two to ask to speak with Mary, tempting her with the prospect of being welcomed back to court, reconciled with her father and restored to his favour on condition that she accept her as Queen.

When news of this extraordinary offer was related to him, Chapuys was indignant at the impertinence of it. The idea of the King's whore dangling the prospect of a return to court before the girl who, by all rights, should still be the recognized heir to the throne, filled him with anger. Worse, the offer was a conditional one, imposing requirements that Mary's conscience would never allow her to accept; the repudiation of her mother and, by extension, a declaration of her own illegitimacy, an acknowledgement that could potentially strengthen the Concubine's position and her child's immeasurably while weakening that of their rivals.

Surely Anne knew that Mary would never agree to such unthinkable conditions when she made her offer – however much he disliked her, Chapuys credited her with being a shrewd, intelligent woman. Perhaps she had never expected or intended that Mary would accept her offer and hoped only that by making it in the first place, she would show herself to be the reasonable party in the King's eyes and put Mary in the wrong.

He shuddered to think how much it would have hurt Queen Katherine if she had heard that her own beloved daughter had repudiated her, denying her her rightful title, the title she fought so hard to keep, and applying it instead to the usurper of her place. He was deeply thankful that Mary had had the strength to resist temptation and remain true to her mother and he admired her all the more for it.

After Katherine's death, when the Emperor contacted him with instructions that he should begin to investigate the possibilities of an alliance with the King, adding that if it should prove necessary, he would acknowledge the Lady Anne as Queen and support the continuation of her marriage to the King, Chapuys was unhappy with his orders at first, unhappy that, after all Katherine had endured, her own nephew would be prepared to make overtures to the people who caused her so much misery but, on reflection, he saw an opportunity to make some good of the situation.

Katherine was dead and, much as he would like to, he could do nothing for her, but her daughter was another matter.

The King of England would surely want to seize the opportunity to ally himself with the most powerful monarch in Christendom once more, and they could use this to restore Mary to her rightful place... or so he had thought.

"The King has refused to consider the idea of restoring Princess Mary to the line of succession." He said quietly, seeing from the expression on Brereton's face that he was just as dismayed by the news as he was himself. "I believe him to be implacably opposed to the idea and unlikely to relent, whatever the cost."

"Does the Emperor know?"

Chapuys nodded, his dismay plain. He was a loyal servant to his master but this was one time when he vehemently disagreed with his decision, although he would never dare to say so. "The Emperor fears that if he is too rigid regarding his conditions, the King will simply choose to make a French alliance instead," he explained. "He cannot take that risk. He has sent instructions to me saying that if the King remains opposed to the idea of restoring Princess Mary, I am not to continue to push for it. He believes – and I agree with him – that as long as the King has hope of a son, he will not be prepared to acknowledge the Princess as a legitimate heir, for fear that she might one day become a rival to the boy."

"But Mary must succeed her father." Brereton protested. "If she does not become Queen, everything is lost. She will never have the opportunity to restore the true faith to England – and the harlot's child will never do that." No child of Anne's, male or female, would ever be willing to return England to the Church of Rome. To do so would be a denial of its own legitimacy and right to rule.

"I agree with you, my friend, but there is little we can do at this time. Until the Concubine is delivered, everything is uncertain. Unless something was to happen to her..." He began, his voice scarcely above a whisper. "Even if the King insists on treating his little bastard Elizabeth as a princess, he will surely not be as averse to restoring Princess Mary to her proper place, ahead of her sister, if he no longer has his Concubine at his side, urging him to be cruel to her while promoting the interests of their child. In truth, Brereton, I fear for Princess Mary's life if that woman bears the King a living son. He has longed for one for so long that I am afraid that if she can succeed in giving him his great desire, he will be so pleased that he will be prepared to do anything she asks."

"You believe that he might be bewitched into killing Princess Mary!" Brereton crossed himself at the thought.

"That is my fear." Chapuys met the other man's eyes squarely. "Unless you and I can prevent it."

"Has the Emperor… has he indicated that he wishes Anne to be dealt with?" Brereton asked cautiously, instinctively glancing behind him, even though he knew that there was nobody there to overhear him. "Or His Holiness?"

Of necessity, he could not communicate directly with either man anymore. It was too dangerous under the current circumstances, in a court where every man watched the activities of his fellows, sometimes even engaging spies so that he would be the first to know of any suspicious or treasonable activity, the first to bring the matter to the King's attention and the first to reap the reward for doing so. His mission was too important to be jeopardized by a messenger betraying him or a letter falling into the wrong hands. Chapuys was his closest connection with them, the person to whom he confided what he learned so that the information could be relayed to the pope and Emperor, and the person who brought him news of their plans and their instructions for him.

"No," Chapuys answered truthfully, if a little reluctantly. "However, if something were to happen, I do not think that they would grieve." He frowned thoughtfully. "She is with child." He reminded his companion unnecessarily.

The harlot's pregnancy, the complication that was causing so much trouble for so many people, was also the only thing that gave either of them reason to shrink from the task of dealing with her as she deserved. Whether a woman was a thief, a murderess or a witch – and in Chapuys' and Brereton's opinions, Anne was all three – the law forbade her execution if she was carrying a child, postponing her death until after the baby was born. Regardless of the crimes the mother committed, her unborn child was innocent and justice forbade it paying the price for her sins.

Brereton already wrestled with that dilemma almost three years ago, when he prepared to shoot Anne during her coronation procession, despite the fact that she was visibly pregnant, and the justification he used to reconcile himself with his task then was as true now as it had been that day.

"Taking the life of a child is not something to be considered lightly," he said softly, but with a determined edge to his voice, which made it clear that his mind was made up. "The baby Anne carries _is_ innocent, for the moment, but it will not remain so. If the child is a boy, then he will become King one day, usurping Princess Mary's rightful place and ensuring England's slide into heresy. There will be no saving this country if Anne's son takes the throne." His face seemed to glow with fervour and, despite himself, Chapuys shrank back a little, disconcerted by the fanatical gleam in his eyes. "Allowing that to happen would be a far greater evil than the death of one child."


	4. Chapter Three

**_1st March 1536_ **

"Not hungry today, Your Majesty?" Mistress Porter queried, picking up the plate as soon as Anne pushed it away from her, glancing down at it and scanning it quickly to determine how much – or how little – of her meal she had eaten. Satisfied that she had eaten enough of the large meal served to her and knowing that it was unlikely that she would be able to persuade her to take any more in any case, she set the plate down on a table and moved to straighten the bed coverings.

Anne shook her head in response to the question. "Not really."

"It's not surprising." The response was matter of fact. "You're in bed all day, taking no exercise to work up an appetite – though mind you, madam, even if you are not hungry, the child you carry is another matter." She reminded her. "Is there anything else that you fancy eating?" Dr Linacre might think that it was best if his patient's diet was carefully monitored to ensure that her meals were wholesome, and bland enough not to overheat the blood, but in Mistress Porter's experience, unborn babies knew best what they needed to help them grow and if a baby in the womb communicated a desire for a particular food to its mother, she should be given it without argument, no matter how unusual her request might seem.

"No, thank you." Anne settled back against her pillows, waiting.

Elizabeth had already arrived in the palace but was whisked straight up to the suite of rooms designated as her nursery when she visited the court as soon as she arrived, so that she could eat her own dinner, since she had been travelling since early morning. Lady Bryan was under orders to bring her straight to Anne's apartments as soon as she had changed out of her travelling clothes and eaten and Anne was impatient to see her.

It was far too long since she had been able to hold her daughter or play with her, not since the day when the court went to the Seymour home, Wolf Hall, for an impromptu festival after Katherine's death, the day when Anne's suspicions that she was carrying a child were confirmed by her physician and she was able to announce the news.

She heard her daughter before she saw her – or, more accurately, she heard the footsteps of her escort and the cries to make way for the Princess Elizabeth, the ceremony that accompanied the child's movements at court, the reminders of her status.

Lady Bryan was ushered into Anne's bedchamber, holding her little charge by the hand. She dropped a deep curtsey as soon as she crossed the threshold, instructing Elizabeth in a hushed whisper to do the same but Elizabeth ignored her, tugging her hand out of her governess' grasp and dashing towards her mother's bed, clambering onto it.

"Mama! Mama!" She wrapped her little arms around Anne's neck, hugging her tightly and planting a smacking kiss on her cheek.

"Your Highness!" Alarmed, Lady Bryan sprang forward to restrain the little girl, but Anne waved for her to leave the child alone and she had to content herself with a verbal reminder. "You must be careful around the Queen, Your Highness, and very gentle."

"It's alright, Lady Bryan." Anne said firmly, wrapping her arms around her daughter in a tight hug and kissing her. "My precious girl, my sweetheart." She murmured, smoothing Elizabeth's fair hair away from her face and tucking a stray strand into the embroidered white coif she wore. "How are you?"

"Well." Elizabeth responded before frowning reprovingly at her mother. "You didn't come to see me, not for months. I missed you."

"I missed you too, my darling," Anne said softly, "but I haven't been able to travel." She gestured to her bed. "I've had to stay here for a long time."

"Are you sick? Did you eat green berries?" Elizabeth asked curiously. "They can make you very sick." She added solemnly.

"Green berries?" Anne glanced up at Lady Bryan, who was motioning frantically for her charge to stop talking. "What is going on here, Lady Bryan?"

"It is nothing for Your Majesty to be concerned about." Lady Bryan assured her quickly. "Princess Elizabeth was playing outdoors last week and she found some unripe currants growing in the gardens and ate some of them without our knowing of it."

"They were sour." Elizabeth stated, speaking as clearly and distinctly as a child more than twice her age. Every time Anne spoke to her little daughter, she became more certain than ever that the reports of her intelligence and precocity were not exaggerated. "And they gave me a bellyache."

"But there was no real harm done, Your Majesty." Lady Bryan insisted. "The Princess was unwell for a day or two, but she was as healthy as ever afterwards – as you can see for yourself." She motioned to Elizabeth, who was clearly none the worse for her experience.

"How did this happen?" Anne demanded. She knew that when it came to small children, mischief was to be expected but Elizabeth had a full household of people to watch over her, to prevent this sort of thing happening. "Why wasn't somebody watching her? She is not to be left alone!" Her voice rose, her fears for her child panicking her.

"She wasn't alone, Your Majesty," Lady Bryan said soothingly, not wanting somebody to come in and blame her for upsetting the Queen. "The Lady Mary was with her," she added, eager to shift the blame to a head other than her own, "but she must not have been keeping a close enough watch on the Princess, and allowed her to eat the berries. She was not aware of it; it was not until Princess Elizabeth became unwell that she told me what happened herself. I apologize if I was careless with the Princess, Your Majesty, but I believed that the Lady Mary could be trusted to be vigilant for a few minutes."

Anne felt her heart thudding loudly in her chest as she looked down at little Elizabeth, who didn't seem to understand why her story of the green berries should cause her mother so much worry. Not wanting her daughter to be frightened, she forced herself to smile reassuringly but inside, she was terrified.

Unripe currants were harmless enough, but it was only luck that kept Elizabeth from tasting something else instead, something that would be far more dangerous for her and that would cause more than just a simple bellyache. Intelligent as she was, she was too young to understand the dangers of indulging her curiousity in that way and it was vital that she be closely watched to prevent another incident like this one, vital that Anne be able to be certain that the people entrusted with her daughter's care and well-being were worthy of their task, and that they would protect her little girl.

Had Mary truly not been aware that Elizabeth tasted something harmful, as she claimed, or had she known what the toddler was up to? Had she watched her sampling the currants and made no move to stop her, spitefully hoping that she would become ill, or worse? She had no cause to love Elizabeth, resenting her half-sister for taking her place as princess and as heiress presumptive to the throne, but did she hate her enough to allow an innocent child to expose herself to danger, or maybe even to deliberately lead her into harm's way? What would happen after the baby was born, when he went to join Elizabeth at Hatfield? Would Mary try to hurt him too?

At best, the girl was negligent in her duties; at worst she was capable of maliciously neglecting and harming the child she was supposed to be tending to.

"The Lady Mary is not to be left alone with Princess Elizabeth, at any time or under any circumstances." Anne ordered. "Another person is to be present at all times, Lady Bryan; either yourself or somebody you feel can be trusted completely."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Lady Bryan responded, curtseying.

Anne nodded, satisfied by the promise. Lady Bryan valued her position as Lady Governess to Elizabeth too much to risk losing it by disobeying her orders. "Thank you, Lady Bryan. You may wait outside, with my ladies."

"Yes, Your Majesty." With a final curtsey, Lady Bryan backed out of the bedchamber, leaving mother and daughter alone.

Settling Elizabeth comfortably beside her, Anne put her arm around her and answered her initial question. "I haven't been eating green berries, my darling – and you shouldn't do that either."

Elizabeth considered the response, trying to come up with an alternative theory. "Were you naughty?" She asked at last. "Did you get sent to bed?" Lady Bryan sometimes said that she would send Elizabeth to bed if she was a naughty girl and didn't do as she was told but she never did it, even when Elizabeth didn't mind her, because Elizabeth was a Princess and very special. Somebody should have told her Mama's ladies that they couldn't send the Queen to bed either, especially when she was grown-up.

Anne smothered a laugh at this, shaking her head. "No, sweetheart, that's not it."

"Then why are you in bed? It's daytime." She added, as though she thought that her mother might not have been told that.

"I know. It's just… I'm tired."

"Tired?"

"Yes; your baby brother is tiring me out, so I need to rest." Anne explained.

Elizabeth had heard all about her baby brother. Every day, Lady Bryan told her that she ought to say her prayers and ask God to send her a baby brother and that it was very important for her to do this. Elizabeth did as she was told and so did Lady Bryan and the other ladies, every morning when they said their prayers together. All of her ladies except Lady Mary, anyway; Mary said her prayers by herself in her own room so Elizabeth didn't know what she prayed for.

She glanced around the bedchamber, looking for signs of a baby. If he was crying and keeping Mama awake and making her tired, then they should move him to a room of his own.

"Where is he?" She asked at last, when she couldn't see any sign of him. "I can't see him."

"He's not born yet," Anne told her gently, folding back the bedclothes a little so that Elizabeth could see the swell of her stomach. "He's in here."

"How did he get _there_?" Elizabeth's eyes were wide at the thought.

Anne laughed again, bending down to kiss her daughter's petal soft cheek. "That's a long story, sweetheart, and one that you'll have to wait a few more years to hear."

"How do you know he's in there?" Elizabeth asked. "Does he talk to you?"

"No, but he kicks." The baby's kicks were one of the most reassuring sensations Anne had ever felt, each one of them an assurance that her son was still with her, that he was still healthy and strong.

Elizabeth's perspective was somewhat different. "He _kicks_ you?" She was outraged by the idea. "That's not nice!" Hitting and kicking people was one of the naughtiest things a child could do, Lady Bryan told her that, and her baby brother wasn't just kicking anybody, he was kicking the _Queen_. She scowled at the bump, wondering if her brother could see her through Mama's skin. Just in case he could, she shook her finger for emphasis. "It's not nice to kick, 'specially not Mama." She scolded him sternly. "Don't do that again! It's bad!"

"You sound very cross, sweetheart." Henry commented from the doorway, entering in time to hear the end of Elizabeth's scolding. "Who's being bad?"

"The baby." Elizabeth frowned at the bump once more before standing and running across the bed to greet her Papa with a hug and a kiss.

"The baby?" Confused, Henry glanced towards Anne for elaboration but she just bit her lower lip, not wanting to laugh for fear of hurting Elizabeth's feelings. He lifted Elizabeth up, holding her so that their faces were level. "What has the baby been doing that's so bad?"

"Kicking Mama." Elizabeth informed him in a sombre tone.

"Has he?" Henry gasped in mock-outrage, doing his best to keep an appropriately furious expression on his face when Elizabeth nodded confirmation. "The villain! Kicking the Queen is treason! What do you think we should do with him, sweetheart? Will we have to send him to the Tower when he is born?"

While Elizabeth gave the proposal the serious consideration it warranted, Anne patted the bed beside her, and Henry set the little girl down, watching as she returned to her mother's side and sat down next to her.

"It doesn't hurt when he kicks me," Anne reassured her. "His feet are still very small, too small to hurt. It's nice, really."

"Nice?" Elizabeth looked doubtful.

"Yes – feel for yourself." Taking one of Elizabeth's chubby hands in hers, Anne gently guided it towards the curve of her abdomen, and held it there, watching her daughter's face light up when the baby kicked.

"It tickles!" Elizabeth announced, delighted by the sensation.

Henry smiled as he watched his wife and daughter for a few moments, before moving to stand next to Anne. He extended his hand to touch her abdomen but withdrew it, feeling slightly awkward and looking to her for permission. "May I?" Anne's smile lit up her face as she nodded at him, watching as he gently laid his hand against the bump. "Where?"

"Here." She moved his hand slightly.

At first, Henry couldn't feel anything but then, just as he was about to move his hand away, he felt it; a gentle thump against his palm, making itself felt even through the silk of Anne's nightgown, as though his son knew that his father was there and wanted to greet him.

"He's strong." He murmured, awed, impulsively taking her hand in his and kissing it. "Like his mother."

* * *

"I have sent a message to Mary. She will be here in two days' time." Thomas Boleyn reported, his deep frown and sour tone indicating his displeasure at the idea.

"Will she be travelling alone?" The Duke of Norfolk demanded, just as put out by the idea of the return of his niece, banished from court and from the family circle when she married in secret.

Mary was a fool! Had she waited, they could have found a worthy match for her; God knew that there were more than a few men – wealthy, titled men – who would be only too glad to seize the opportunity of uniting with the Boleyn-Howard clan by marrying the Queen's sister, but instead she had thrown herself away on a common soldier, a man they could never own as their kin, even by marriage.

Perhaps Mary took after her mother, Norfolk pondered, remembering his own dismay when he learned that his sister was to marry Thomas Boleyn, a man of more ambition than noble pedigree, a man he had accepted as his brother-in-law with more than a few qualms. Like her elder daughter, Elizabeth married beneath her and while it could not be denied that Boleyn had done well for himself, albeit more through his youngest daughter than his own merits, even an earldom could not truly compensate for a merchant grandfather.

"Her husband is travelling with her," Thomas all but spat the word 'husband', as though it left a foul taste in his mouth, "and the child too but I have made it plain that they will not be received at court. They are to lodge at one of my London houses, and keep out of my sight."

"That's one mercy, I suppose," Norfolk acknowledged grudgingly.

"Yes," Thomas agreed, "bad enough to have Mary without Stafford coming to court too. At least we can keep her visit quiet, and keep her to Anne's rooms as much as possible."

"It won't be as bad as all that." George protested mildly, taking a more optimistic view of the situation. "Anne wants Mary with her, after all, and anything that can be done to keep her calm and happy will be worth it, if we get a healthy baby out of her."

"A healthy boy." Norfolk corrected grimly. "We need a boy out of her."

"Yes, of course, but if it was a healthy girl, that wouldn't be the end of the world, would it? At least it would prove that Anne can still have healthy children. A living girl is better than a dead boy."

"But not good enough." His father said bluntly.

"The King wants a son this summer, not in another year's time." Norfolk agreed. "And the whole country needs a boy – Anne especially; if she cannot give the King a son, then he may discard her and look elsewhere for a new wife, one who can be mother to his sons. With Katherine dead, he could free himself of Anne easily enough, if he so chose." He stated, knowing that if his niece was to be repudiated by her husband, he for one would not lift a finger or say a word to prevent it and he knew his brother-in-law well enough to know that the same would be true of him.

If it came to a choice between standing by Anne and pleasing the King, it wasn't a choice at all.

"But her position as Queen is stronger with Katherine out of the way," George protested. "King Francis has acknowledged her as Queen. Even the Emperor is willing to do the same and once they do, other monarchs will follow their example."

"It's true that the Emperor needs England's friendship, too much to be able to afford to remain stubborn over the matter of the King's marriage to Anne." Boleyn said cautiously.

"He's even going to drop his condition about the Lady Mary being restored as a princess." George gloated, grinning at the thought. "I wish I could have seen Chapuys' face when he found out that the King refused to even consider the idea!"

"He refused this time but that does not mean that he can't change his mind." Norfolk said, frowning at his nephew's premature glee. "If he decided tomorrow to alter the Act of Succession to name Mary as his heir ahead of Elizabeth, he would be able to get Parliament to agree to it without any argument – and if he did, the move would have the support of a great many of the people. Elizabeth is a little child and Mary is a woman. As heir to the throne, Mary's age alone makes her a more desirable candidate, especially after we came so close to losing His Majesty in January."

"And it was Elizabeth's coronation that Master Cromwell was making preparations for," George countered triumphantly, getting a scornful look from his uncle for the remark.

"And how long do you believe that you would have been able to hold the country for her? A year? Two? As long as it took for her to reach her majority? Mary would have had the support of the Emperor and of many of the people and her supporters would be championing a young woman ready to marry and become the mother of an heir, while those few who supported Elizabeth would be seeking to put a toddler on the throne, passing the reigns of power into your hands for fifteen years or more, my lord." He added to his brother-in-law, unable to keep a note of resentment from his voice.

Boleyn might be Anne's father and, as such, closer kin to little Elizabeth than Norfolk was but it was still a bitter blow to learn that the man was named Lord Protector ahead of him, at the King's express wishes. Anne holding the Regency, together with the wardship of her daughter, was understandable but he was far more suited to the task of governing as Lord Protector than Boleyn ever could be. He was the first peer in England, head of one of the noblest families in England and yet he was set aside in favour of a man who had been born a virtual nobody.

Perhaps this was how Katherine felt when she realized that she, daughter of two monarchs, a princess twice over, was to be set aside for her own lady-in-waiting, he thought humourlessly, without any sympathy for the woman's plight.

"Unless Anne gives the King a son, Mary could still become Queen." He finished, looking from one Boleyn to the other to make certain that his message was driven home.

George shifted uncomfortably, remembering an outburst of his sister's, over a year ago.

_"As long as Mary is alive, she could be Queen." Anne's eyes were wide and haunted as she spoke of the fears preying on her mind._

_"No," George denied the possibility firmly, turning Anne so that she was facing him and trying to reassure her, "the Act of Succession makes it impossible." Anne shook her head mutely but he persevered, cupping her face in his hands. "Elizabeth, your daughter, will be made heir to the throne."_

_"But the King can change his mind." Anne's voice was full of despair as she spoke. "He can do whatever he wills now, he has absolute power, you know that!" She hit his chest lightly for emphasis, pulling away from him as she continued to speak, almost ranting. "And what he has given, he can take away, and what taken away, he can give back!" She gestured to her opulent surroundings with a sweep of her arm. "And he could still make Mary Queen, even above my daughter!" She looked near tears at the idea._

_"But why should he?"_

_"I don't know, I just fear it!" She turned away, calming down somewhat and speaking in calm, measured tones that were almost more disconcerting than her ranting. "This is all I know of Mary; she is my death and I am hers."_

He dismissed it as nonsense at the time, a result of the strain caused by her recent miscarriage and by her knowledge that the King was taking mistresses, but could Anne have been right? Would the King truly be prepared to go back on his decision to exclude the Lady Mary from the succession, prepared to reinstate her ahead of little Elizabeth?

Anne would certainly be right to fear the prospect of Mary's succession as Queen if that happened. Neither she, nor any of the Boleyns could hope for forgiveness at the hands of the girl who saw them as the cause of all her troubles, and of her mother's death.

"It's a pity that the Lady Mary is not keeping company with her mother." He muttered through gritted teeth, seeing from the expression on his father's face that he did not disapprove of the sentiment.

It would have made things so much simpler for them if Mary had died of her recent illness.

"I would be very careful about who you express such sentiments to, if I were you." Norfolk warned in a sombre tone. "Bastard or not, the Lady Mary is still the King's daughter and if you do not remember how affectionate he once was towards her, I do. He would not be pleased to hear that you have said such a thing, even if he is displeased by her recent disobedience."

Seeing the sense of what he was saying, George subsided.

"The Lady Mary is a potential threat to us," Boleyn mused aloud, "but for the moment, we need to tread very carefully. We cannot afford to make a move against her... not yet."

* * *

**_3rd March 1536_ **

The servant her father sent to greet Mary on her arrival met her in the courtyard, away from the main bustle of the court, giving orders that her trunk should be brought to her chamber and conducting her to her sister's rooms, leading her through a virtual maze of corridors, almost empty of everybody except servants, especially at this time of day, instead of through the main body of the court.

Her father may have meant the gesture both to be discreet about her visit and as a pointed reminder of how far she had fallen with her second marriage, so far that even as the Queen's sister, her presence at court was a source of shame, in the hopes of embarrassing her but Mary refused to allow it to trouble her. In a way, it was almost amusing to think of what a wasted effort this was on her father's part. No matter what precautions he took to keep her arrival a secret, if it wasn't already known that she was to visit, her presence would be public knowledge the moment she entered Anne's rooms and was seen by Anne's ladies, who could scarcely be expected to hold their tongues about such a piece of gossip, and regardless of what he said or did, he would _never_ make her feel ashamed or unhappy about marrying William.

Another father would be pleased to see his daughter happy, respectably married to a man who loved her, especially when the kindest, most charitable person could not deny that her reputation was blemished, after her liaisons with the Kings of France and England earned her the ignoble nickname of the Great Prostitute, but her father cut off all contact with her after her marriage, refusing to see her, to acknowledge his grandchild or even to send a message enquire about whether he was grandfather to a boy or to a girl. He shunned her for becoming a wife, when he had once encouraged her to become a mistress.

To be the mistress of a King might be seen as a privilege and an honour by some but it was a privileged, honoured position only as long as it lasted. Once she was discarded, she became an object of ridicule and scorn, with those who cultivated her friendship when she had the King's ear and might speak for them abandoning her in droves, turning instead to the new favourite.

It was far better to be the wife of a good, honest man, even if he could offer neither wealth nor a grand title, than to be the mistress of the richest, most powerful King in Christendom.

Her little sister was ample proof that all the wealth and power in the world could not guarantee a happy union.

Stopping outside the door to Anne's rooms, the servant knocked and then stepped back. One of Anne's attendants, a young woman Mary did not recognize, opened the door. Her grey eyes took in Mary's travelling gown, a plainer garment than those worn by most ladies of the court, together with the presence of a servant in the Boleyn livery.

"Lady Mary Stafford?"

"Yes."

"Her Majesty's sister?" The other woman asked, as though there might be two Mary Staffords expected to visit that day.

"That's right." Mary confirmed, suppressing a smile at her caution. Satisfied that Mary was who she claimed to be, the woman stood aside to let her pass into the room. Seeing a familiar face, Mary smiled. "Cousin Madge. How are you?"

Madge rose to greet her, setting aside her sewing and kissing Mary on the cheek. "I am well, cousin. And you?"

"Well enough." Mary lowered her voice slightly. "How is my sister… the Queen." She corrected herself quickly. Anne had never had any objection to her brother or sister addressing or referring to her as 'sister', even in the presence of others, but after her coronation, their father made it abundantly clear to Mary and to George that he expected them to take especial care to observe the formalities due to Anne's exalted rank, at least in the presence of witnesses.

There would be enough people who would be happy to deny her her rightful title without her own kin doing the same.

"She is better, I think – certainly better than she was when she first became ill." Madge said, shuddering at the memory of entering the bedchamber to find her mistress bleeding, losing her child. She didn't think that she had ever been so frightened in all her life as she was that day. "Dr Linacre and Mistress Porter both say that we need to be very careful with her and make sure that we take good care of her and that she gets plenty of rest, to be safe but they think that if we can do that, the baby will be born healthy. We're all praying for her." She added softly.

"What happened?" Mary asked in a whisper; her father's message was brief, saying only that Anne was to be confined to bed until she was delivered of her child and giving no details about what had caused her near-miscarriage but there would have to be something.

"The King took a fall when he was jousting a few days before," Madge's voice was so soft that it was almost inaudible. "I don't know if you heard anything about it…" Mary shook her head. "Well, he was crushed by his armour and left unconscious for a long time and we all thought that he might die. The Queen was very afraid."

Poor Anne! Mary could imagine how devastated her sister must have been to be told that she was likely to be widowed, especially when she had one small child in the nursery and another on the way, children who would need to be protected and whose rights would have to be fought for. "But he lived."

"Yes, but that wasn't the end of it." Madge confided in her. "A few days later, Her Majesty went to see the King but he wasn't alone; he had Mistress Seymour with him. I don't know what she saw them doing," she added, before Mary could ask, "but she was very upset when the King brought her back here and told us to put her to bed and watch over her. She slept for a while but when she woke up, she was bleeding. If Dr Linacre hadn't been able to come so quickly, they might both have died. Mistress Seymour hasn't showed her face here since," she said, seeing Mary scanning the unfamiliar faces among her sister's ladies to see which one was responsible for her state. "She has been dismissed as a lady-in-waiting."

"Is she still at court?" Mary could hardly believe her ears; it was well known that the King had had his affairs while he was married to Katherine – while he _believed_ that he was married to Katherine – but she hadn't thought that he would treat Anne the same way, not when he loved her so much and had fought so long and so hard to marry her. If he did need to seek a mistress while she was carrying his child and unable to lie with him, then he should have taken this Mistress Seymour elsewhere, somewhere that Anne wouldn't be able to find them together and be hurt by it.

"Yes," Madge admitted reluctantly, before anxiously adding "but you mustn't speak of her before the Queen. She must not be upset."

The warning was unnecessary but Mary nodded anyway. "Is the Queen able to have a visitor right now?"

Madge started slightly, as though she had just realized how long the had been speaking. She smiled sheepishly at Mary. "Yes, of course. She'll be wanting to see you; she said that as soon as you arrived, we were to send you in."

With a quick smile for Madge, and scattered nods at those of Anne's ladies who greeted her, Mary crossed the large room and pushed back the curtain separating them from Anne's bedchamber.

Anne was reclining in bed, reading, while a middle-aged woman in a black gown sat by the fireside, sewing. As soon as she saw Mary, Anne set her book aside, her pleasure at the visit plain. "Mary!" She cried out the name, sitting up to greet her sister, getting the bed coverings tangled around her legs in her haste.

The woman by the fireside rose immediately, hurrying to Anne's side, making sure that she was properly propped up by the pillows and straightening the bed. Anne tolerated her ministrations without complaint but Mary could see a glint of impatience in her eyes. "You must be careful, Your Majesty, and remain calm for the sake of the child."

Anne resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the unnecessary reminder. "Thank you, Mistress Porter. You may leave us."

"Yes, Your Majesty." She curtsied deeply, picking up her sewing and moving to leave the room but before she passed through the curtained opening, she addressed Mary in a low voice, as though she thought that Anne wouldn't be able to hear what she said. "Be sure that you don't over-excite her, Lady Mary. We don't wish for her to have a restless night."

"I won't," Mary promised, waiting until the woman had left the room before curtsying slightly in her sister's direction and walking over to stand by her bedside. "Your Majesty."

"No, just 'sister'." Anne corrected her, extending her arms and hugging her sister awkwardly, feeling a little strange around her after so long a separation. "I've missed you." She said quietly. "I'm sorry that I didn't invite you back sooner but…"

"Never mind." Mary cut her off kindly. By the sounds of things, Anne had enough to worry about already without feeling guilty about siding with their father when he objected to Mary's marriage, and banishing her from court. "I'm here now. Move over," she instructed good-naturedly, waiting for Anne to shift slightly and then sitting down on the bed next to her sister. "How are you – both of you?" She asked, concerned. If Anne was being watched as closely as she seemed to be, there must be grave concerns about her chances of carrying the baby to term.

"We're well enough," Anne insisted, indicating her bed with a slight wave of her hand. "This is just a precaution, really. I feel fine, and the baby is strong."

"Are you sure?" Mary pressed, looking at Anne's pale face and touching her cheek with the back of her hand, as if to check for a fever. "Is it true that they're keeping you in bed until the baby is born?" Anne nodded confirmation. "All the time?"

Anne gave her a wry smile. "Except to bathe and use the closet."

"You poor thing," Mary said sympathetically, rubbing her arm.

"How are you?" Anne asked, "and your husband? You have a child, don't you?"

"We're all very well, and we have a daughter." Mary confirmed, sparing her sister the discomfort of asking if she had a niece or a nephew. "Anne – we call her 'Annie' – is a year and a half now."

Anne's eyes shone with unshed tears at the thought that, even after she had banished Mary and her husband, yielding to her father's wishes and cutting off all contact with the Stafford family, they had still named their firstborn child for her. "What's she like?"

"Mischievous, stubborn, defiant and so charming that she can wrap everybody around her little finger and make us all forget that we were ever angry with her with one smile." Mary related, shooting her sister a teasing look. "She's actually very like you when you were a little girl. Ever since she learned to walk, her favourite game is to run away as soon as we take our eyes off her, and then hide and refuse to come out until we offer her a sweetmeat. What about Elizabeth?" She asked, curious about her niece, whom she hadn't seen since she was a baby.

"Sweet, charming and very clever." Anne said, feeling a pang of envy towards her sister, who could be with her child as much as she wanted, while she relied on Lady Bryan for reports on Elizabeth's progress and activities. "I think that she's going to be a beautiful woman one day."

"Like her mother."

Anne smiled slightly, but it didn't reach her eyes. "That's what Henry said." She remarked wistfully.

_"Our daughter was brought to court, and everyone admired her." Unable to ignore the fact that there were many people in England, and many more abroad, who believed her adored daughter to be a bastard, Anne was delighted to see Elizabeth honoured as a princess, as she ought to be, and to hear the compliments showered on the little girl. "I think she'll be a great beauty."_

_"Of course she will." Henry answered at once, turning to look at her. "Look at her mother."_

_Anne smiled at the compliment, the first she had had from her husband in what seemed like a very long time, before taking advantage of his good mood to press the case for Elizabeth's betrothal to the Duke of Angouleme, not wanting to risk the issue being set to one side and forgotten, ignored until it was too late. "Will you not ask King Francis to reconsider his refusal?" Henry sighed impatiently but she persevered. Her daughter's future was at stake. "If we delay much longer in finding a good marriage for Elizabeth, people will talk even more than they do already."_

_"Why do you talk of Elizabeth when Mary is not yet betrothed?" His voice was cold, his words more of a rebuke than a question, as though he considered it wrong for her to be more interested in securing the future of her child – **their** child – than in promoting the interests of his bastard daughter by Katherine, the daughter he had refused to see for years and who had been banished to Hatfield to serve Elizabeth at his order._

_"Surely you have more of a care for your **legitimate** daughter."_

That had been a mistake on her part, something she could only see with hindsight. Her husband had not said anything else, but he was clearly displeased by this slight towards Mary.

There had been other warning signs; Henry's sombre mood in private the day he learned of Katherine's death, despite his public rejoicing over the fact that, in dying, she had freed them from the threat of war, his concern when he learned that Mary was ill and his instructions that she should be removed from Elizabeth's household immediately and sent to another royal manor to ensure her comfort while she recovered but neither of those was as plain a threat to Elizabeth's position as his admonition that their daughter's betrothal was not as immediate a concern as that of her half-sister.

Even if every other King, prince and duke in Europe believed that Mary was Henry's legitimate daughter and a princess by right – and, thankfully, this was not the case, especially among the Protestant states – none of them would be willing to agree to marry her, or to allow her marriage to one of their sons, without Henry's acknowledgement of her legitimacy and his agreement to her restoration as princess, and if he was prepared to acknowledge Mary as a legitimate princess, what would that mean for Elizabeth? For her?

He left her side after that, hurrying to speak to Brandon about something, and while she couldn't hear what they were saying, it was plain that Brandon's news pleased Henry.

Brandon had been speaking of Jane Seymour. In her heart, she knew that this was the answer. Although he was once an ally to her father and uncle in their quest to ensure Wolsey's downfall, he had turned against them and against Anne especially. Although she couldn't pinpoint exactly when he had his change of heart; if it had been the death of his wife, who had never troubled to conceal her distaste at her brother's choice of a future bride, or if Katherine's banishment from court had caused him to have second thoughts about what was happening in England, or if there had been something else, she could not deny the fact that he could no longer be counted as an ally, that he now numbered among her many enemies.

He encouraged Henry's attention towards other women – not that he needed encouragement! – and facilitated his liaisons, acting as a messenger between Henry and whichever lady took his fancy, delivering letters and tokens.

He had been sent to bring something to Jane and returned with a response and Henry, for all his show of regret at the idea that his jousting mishap could have caused Anne to lose the child she carried, for all he said about knowing that he could no longer behave as he once had and for all his promises that he would put those days behind him, had all but run from her side when he saw Brandon, eager to hear what Jane Seymour had said.

Unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes and trickled down her cheeks, a soft sob escaping her lips.

"Anne?" Mary was alarmed by the sudden change in her sister's mood, hugging her gently and rocking her back and forth a little, as she had when they were children and Anne had a nightmare. "What is it?" Anne didn't answer, her crying becoming more audible.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mary saw Mistress Porter appear in the doorway, alerted by the sound of Anne's sobs and looking as though she would be prepared to banish Mary from the room if she was upsetting her but once she saw that Mary had the situation in hand, she quietly withdrew, knowing that it would only serve to distress Anne even more to know that she was being watched.

"What has he done to you?" Mary asked quietly, neither expecting nor receiving an answer and feeling a surge of fury towards Henry for the way he treated her sister.

If he wasn't the King, she would love nothing more than to box his ears.


	5. Chapter Four

**_31st March 1536_ **

As Anne neared the seventh month of her pregnancy, Mary noticed that the atmosphere in her rooms became lighter, her ladies-in-waiting more cheerful.

Anne herself was often in low spirits, and the restrictions she was placed under were neither lifted or lightened, but as her belly continued to swell and the kicks of the child she carried became stronger and more frequent, hope for his survival became more assured and preparations for his arrival and his nursery were discussed more openly, with more confidence, with the ladies happily speculating about what kind of lavish feasts and entertainments the King would have planned to celebrate the birth of his son and heir, whether the King of France or the Emperor might be asked to stand godfather or if an English noble would be chosen for the honour and other cheerful topics as they busied themselves sewing tiny gowns, caps and swaddling bands.

The prince's elaborate layette was nearly complete, aside from the christening gown, which Anne claimed as her exclusive project. The ladies of Anne's household had made good use of their time while she was restricted to her bed and they were kept to quarters, their customary entertainments ceasing until after the child was born, their hours spent sewing and embroidering industriously, and Mary calculated that even if the prince's clothes were changed five times a day, he would not have a chance to wear all of the dainty garments lying in readiness for him before he outgrew them and they had to be stowed in trunks and forgotten, or else given away.

With preparations for the coming prince complete, their attention turned instead to the making of clothes for babies born to poor families, families who did not have the means to provide for their offspring adequately and Anne intended that these garments should be distributed, along with alms, to mark the birth of her son.

When she discussed these preparations, she was generally in good spirits but her moods were unpredictable and, while she might be cheerful and optimistic at one moment, she could sink into a sullen silence the next, suffering from bouts of melancholy generally triggered by her suspicions that Henry was taking advantage of the fact that she was obliged to absent herself from the activity of the court to indulge his fancy for Mistress Seymour to the full, and once she took that notion, it was extremely difficult to distract her from it or to persuade her that she was worrying needlessly.

Anne was intelligent enough to know that, regardless of whether Henry barely had a minute in the day to spare for Jane or whether she was being feted like a Queen, as she herself had been years ago, when Katherine still held the title in name but Anne was treated as de facto consort, every one of her ladies, together with anyone else who was permitted to visit, would insist that she had nothing to worry about and that Henry's interest in Jane was waning by the day.

Since she could not trust that others would tell her the truth, for fear of upsetting her, she was left to imagine what was happening for herself, and her imaginings were not pleasant.

It was therefore a great relief to Mary when a conversation between her sister and the King regarding the proposed dissolution of the monasteries and the plans for the property and funds being seized bore fruit, with Henry arriving for his next visit with a sheaf of papers under his arm, his explanation of their purpose bringing a delighted smile to Anne's face.

Once Henry left, she called for paper, quills and ink, her face animated as she spoke to Mary, so absorbed in her project that she did not seem to even notice their father's arrival, or the fact that Nan and Madge, who had been sitting and sewing by the fire, left the bedchamber to give the family a small measure of privacy.

"These two monasteries, along with the Priory of St. Mark, are to be mine," she explained, spreading the deeds to the properties, together with the documents detailing their lands and assets, across the bed covers so that they could study them. "The King has said that he is leaving them entirely in my charge, so that I can decide how best to use their assets, for the benefit of the people in the surrounding areas." She said, proud of her charge.

When Henry, encouraged by Cromwell, made the decision to allow the monasteries to be inspected, with the corrupt ones suppressed and their assets seized, Anne's hope had been that some of the proceeds could be devoted to worthy causes, like education and poor relief but Master Cromwell had had other ideas, and preferred to sell off the lands and properties as quickly as possible so that the money from the sales could go to the Privy Purse. He even dared to reprove Anne, albeit mildly and with all outward politeness, for thinking to question his plans, plans her husband and male relatives had already voiced their support for, and her father had later issued his own reprimand, chastising her for arguing with the man and for voicing an opinion on a public matter, or any other.

Anne wasn't stupid. She could understand the reasons behind Cromwell's desire to sell off the properties and to leave the funds generated by the sale in Henry's hands. At a stroke, his strategy would both greatly enrich the royal treasury and ensure that the nobility of England, the people who could afford to purchase the monastic holdings, would have every reason to be loyal to the new ways, as they would be obtaining prime pieces of property at very reasonable prices, and to be reluctant to see England return its allegiance to Rome, as they would then have to restore the properties to the Church. However, she could also see that this was a strategy that was likely to turn the common people, the people for whom the monasteries – at least the better ones – were a support and help when they needed it, against them and cause them to resent the changes being made to the Church in England. They would be putting an end to the good that the monasteries did for the people but without giving anything back, which was bound to promote bad feelings.

Surely it was possible to achieve a balance between the two aims, to reserve some of the wealth for the crown but to devote the rest to the benefit of the people.

When she brought up the matter with Henry, he listened to what she said, and even if he was merely humouring her rather than genuinely agreeing with her concerns, their discussion had borne fruit.

The victory was a minor one; she had no illusions on that score. The three religious houses turned over to her were a mere drop in the bucket compared with the assets Cromwell planned to seize for the Crown, but even a small victory could be a valuable one.

If she could show that the monastic properties could do some good, if their assets were properly utilized, if she could prove to Henry that by doing so, he would win even more of the love of his people than he enjoyed already, then perhaps it would be a beginning, and they would follow suit with other properties.

"What do you have planned for them?" Mary asked, tracing a finger over the description of the first monastery, one eyebrow lifting slightly when she saw the acreage, before picking up a meticulously detailed map of the area.

"I want the land for this monastery, and the one in Kent to be divided into farms, to be given to families who have been dispossessed, and those who are destitute." Anne explained, her blue eyes softening at the thought of the countless families, good, hard-working people, who had lost their homes and livelihoods, often through no fault of their own, when their landlords opted to utilize their land to farm sheep or cattle instead of crops, which meant that they needed far fewer labourers, sometimes keeping only one man in ten in their service, if that, and leaving the others to fend for themselves.

Thomas scoffed slightly, but neither of his daughters were listening and neither cared whether he felt disapproval or ridicule over Anne's plans.

"I think that's an excellent idea," Mary praised. "What about the priory?"

"I want to turn that into a school," Anne told her, fishing through her papers to find the one on which she had jotted her estimate of the cost of equipping the property to house children and of paying the wages of the teachers that would be needed. "It actually won't be as expensive as I thought it would be, and since the monasteries won't be able to continue their work in education, we should do it, so this will be a school for boys with the intelligence for education, but not the means. Who knows," she said whimsically, "maybe one day there will be a school like that for clever _girls_ from poor families." She suggested; while boys could sometimes be lucky enough to be offered an education and, for the brightest and most fortunate of them, a way of advancing their fortunes through their abilities, only girls from royal or noble families were educated, and even then many prominent families saw no merit in educating a daughter, believing that if she was too clever, it would prove to be a handicap when it came to finding her a good husband.

"That will never happen." Thomas had heard enough and his voice was sharp as he addressed his daughter. "No common man with sense would ever want to see his daughter educated, or want her to get ideas above her station and think that she knew enough to argue with a man." The note of rebuke in his tone was clear but Anne didn't seem noticeably dampened by it and Mary merely gave him a careless smile as she responded.

"I don't know about that, Father," she said lightly, enjoying the scandalized expression on his face and pushing him just a little further. "It seems to me that there's no reason why a clever girl wouldn't be able to take more benefit from her education than a boy of ordinary ability, if she was given a chance to learn. Look at Anne," she added, touching her sister's arm lightly. "Being a girl didn't stop her being the cleverest in the family, did it? Maybe you should see if the King can give you a fourth property, and you can turn that into a school for girls," she suggested teasingly, knowing that it would never happen. Even Anne wasn't going to be able to go that far. "We could see whether the boys or the girls would learn faster."

"Mary," Thomas' voice was stony as he clipped her name, indicating for her to join him with a curt gesture. "I would like to speak to you alone for a moment, with your permission, Your Majesty." He inclined his head slightly in Anne's direction but didn't wait for her to respond one way or the other before exiting the chamber.

"I'll be back in a moment." Mary promised, handing the papers back to Anne. "Will I send somebody in to sit with you while I'm gone?" Anne shook her head emphatically and Mary giggled. "I didn't think so. Excuse me."

She followed her father out of Anne's apartments, untroubled by the prospect of his anger. Almost two years away from the court and from her father's influence had given her a strength she lacked before, and she enjoyed the feeling of being able to return his gaze, unafraid.

He had cut off her allowance, pushed Anne to stand against her and banish her from the court, cast her out from the family and refused to contact her or to allow her sister and brother to do so… and she had survived. Banishment from the family circle, which at one time she would have thought would be the end of everything for her, had not destroyed her.

She was happy.

She had a loving husband, a beautiful daughter, a home and she didn't need him.

No matter how angry he was, he couldn't do worse to her than banishment and she knew now that she could live with that.

"What do you think you're doing?" He demanded as soon as they were alone, tiny flecks of spit flying from his lips as he berated her. "I brought you back to court so that you could help to keep your sister calm while we await the birth of the child, not so that you could be a bad influence!"

"You invited me back because Anne wanted me back." Mary countered calmly. "And I'll be staying as long as she wants me to." She said firmly, knowing that while her father might be regret inviting her back, he wasn't going to be able to dismiss her, not as long as Anne wanted her at court, and he wouldn't argue with Anne in her current condition – he hadn't even dared to speak harshly to Mary in Anne's presence, for fear of upsetting her.

Even when Anne told her that she might extend an invitation to William on her behalf, inviting him to lodge at court with his wife and allowing little Annie to share the royal nursery with Elizabeth while she was at court, and to continue to use the rooms after the little princess returned to Hatfield, her father couldn't intervene, couldn't insist that Mary's husband and child remain hidden in his London house, as he had intended.

"Have you any comprehension of how serious this is?" He demanded sharply. "Master Cromwell's plans for the religious houses were agreed on by the King and his council, and now Anne deliberately goes against them, after I warned her about quarreling with Master Cromwell!"

"If the King doesn't object to her plans, then I don't see why Master Cromwell should – or you, for that matter." Mary pointed out.

"He's merely humouring her, for the sake of the child!"

"And if he is?" Mary asked challengingly. "As long as Anne is making plans for the monasteries, she's happy. She's not moping about being kept in bed and she's not brooding about the King and Mistress Seymour. You should be pleased that she's taking an interest in something, and encouraging her. What harm can it do? Even if it comes to nothing in the end, what does it matter as long as it keeps her occupied now, and if she succeeds, so much the better. It will certainly benefit more people than selling them or giving them away to half the court. Maybe the King will want Cromwell to follow her example."

Her father's expression was grim as he answered. "That's what I'm afraid of. Your sister can't afford to make enemies."

* * *

He had almost wanted it to rain.

If the weather was inclement, then he had a sound, inoffensive excuse for remaining indoors and forgoing the walk he had suggested earlier in the day.

The true reason why he would _want_ to have an excuse not to go out walking was something that he couldn't – or wouldn't – see, inwardly insisting that the only reason why he would want to stay indoors and renege on his commitment to spend the afternoon with Jane was because he had so much work to do and not enough hours in the day to do it, which meant that he had very little time to spend enjoying a stroll.

It was nothing to do with Jane.

Nothing.

The sky was clear, however, and while the weather was not warm, it was a dry, crisp day, perfect for an afternoon in the gardens, in the company of a beautiful woman... although the company of a beautiful, charming woman could make even a cold, wintry day seem like a pleasant one, Henry mused, remembering when he and Anne walked through the snowy grounds in the dead of winter, both bundled in fur capes to protect them against the cold, his arm wrapped around her shoulder and snow and ice crunching under their shoes.

He barely noticed the weather back then.

"Your Majesty?" Jane's voice cut into his thoughts and she laid one of her hands on his arm.

Jolted from his musings, he made an effort to smile. "Forgive me, sweetheart. What was it you were saying?" He asked, forcing himself to pay attention to her and not allow his thoughts to wander.

Her father and brother walked behind them, maintaining enough of a distance to ensure that their conversation could not be overheard but their presence was enough to ensure that no scandal could mar Jane's reputation.

"I was speaking of Pri... of the Lady Mary, Your Majesty." Jane said. Although she caught herself quickly and referred to Mary by the title Henry had decreed for her, she couldn't help but notice the frown that crossed his face at her slip of the tongue.

"What of her?" His tone was cool.

"Could Your Majesty not invite her to court, for a visit?" Jane suggested, forcing herself to continue, despite her worry that the suggestion might annoy him. "It has been so long since she was here. I am certain that she misses Your Majesty, as any daughter would miss her father, and that she is lonely at Hatfield."

"If the _Lady_ Mary wishes to be welcomed back at court, then she knows what she must do." Henry responded firmly, stressing the title, his tone brooking no argument and inviting no attempts at persuasion. "If she will submit to my will and apologize for her defiance, the Queen and I will be happy to receive her. Until then, it is our wish that she remain where she is."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Jane acknowledged his words with a dip of her head, smiling up at him and hoping that he was not angry.

Henry softened slightly at the smile. Jane had a tender heart, and it was natural that she would feel sympathy for Mary, even if the girl was paying the price for her own stubbornness and wilful disobedience and had nobody to blame but herself if she was unhappy. He could not fault her for the kindness of her nature, but she couldn't possibly understand that, while he might wish to be able to welcome Mary back to court and into his family, he could not do this until she agreed to sign the Oath of Succession, until she acknowledged Anne as his wife and as Queen, and their children as the only true, legitimate heirs to the throne.

If he yielded, if he allowed Mary to return, even for a brief visit, when she still blatantly defied his wishes and refused to show him the obedience he was due, both as her father and as her King, it would send the wrong message to the court, to the people of England, to the Emperor and to Mary herself.

He would not do that.

They walked for a few more minutes, neither of them speaking a word, until Jane became so uncomfortable with the silence that she felt that she had to say something, _anything_ to break it.

"How is the Queen?" She asked tentatively, knowing of his concern for Anne and hoping to please him by showing an interest in her welfare. "I hope that she is well." She pressed when he didn't respond, uncomfortably conscious of the fact that this was a bare-faced lie and unable to convince herself that it was anything else. "There has been very little news about her lately."

Henry stopped walking at this, regarding Jane in silence for a moment as he processed her question and feeling a surge of anger towards her for asking him to betray Anne's privacy and divulge news about her condition. He disliked the idea that his wife and unborn child were the subject of court gossip and while he accepted that this was an inevitability of life at a royal court, it did not mean that it was a state of affairs of which he approved.

Jane taking advantage of their friendship to coax gossip from him about Anne was unacceptable.

"Come," he said curtly, turning back in the direction of the palace, "it is getting cold. We should go back inside."

Disappointed by his reaction, Jane allowed herself to be led back to the palace without uttering a word of protest. As she passed them, they stepping back to allow her and Henry to lead the way, she could see the expression of concern on the faces of her father and her brother.

* * *

As brother to the Queen and a favoured member of the King's council, George Boleyn's quarters were large and comfortable, more spacious than those usually allotted to a viscount, even if he was the son of an earl twice over, and sumptuously furnished.

Jane had them to herself tonight, as she had on far too many nights since her marriage.

When she married, she was realistic enough to know that she should not expect complete fidelity from her husband, especially as she was aware that the man her father had chosen for her had a reputation for being excessively fond of women. It was almost a certainty that he would take a mistress once she became pregnant with his child and was no longer able to lie with him and before the wedding, her mother counselled her that she should not be surprised if he strayed before that.

If he did, it would be her duty as his wife to shut her eyes to his affairs and endure them, as so many other women were obliged to, whether they were commoners or Queens.

But her mother hadn't known the truth, hadn't known the full extent of the humiliation that her daughter would be forced to endure in exchange for the honour of being Lady Rochford, the future Countess of Wiltshire and Ormonde and the sister-in-law of the Queen of England.

It would have been bad enough to know that George was forsaking their bed for that of another woman. She could have borne that, perhaps even taken some slight consolation from the fact that she was not alone, that many of the other husbands at the court, from the King down, had strayed from their wives and taken mistresses, some of their affairs brief, others lasting for many years. If he was bedding other women, she could have confided her woes in another woman, one who knew what it was like to watch her husband turn away from her and who could be relied upon to lend a discreet, sympathetic ear, or to advise her on how best to win back his affections from her rival, but under the circumstances, she couldn't say a word.

Even if her pride would have allowed her to confess that her husband had forsaken her for another man, she knew that she could never breathe a word of it to anybody. Had her husband been an ordinary man, she might have gathered her courage and returned to her father, who would surely not have demanded that she return, not if she told him the truth, but she was married to the King's own brother-in-law If she dared to speak of it, the scandal would be a terrible one and her father-in-law was a powerful man, one who would be prepared to do almost anything to silence somebody who put his family at risk like that.

Jane was not unaware of the rumours that had circulated when Bishop Fisher, among the most ardent supporters of Queen Katherine and a man who was unafraid of speaking out against the King's desire to put his wife aside in favour of Anne, was poisoned by his cook when he dined with friends. Three men died and had Bishop Fisher not been so frugal an eater, he would have died too. Rumour laid the blame squarely at the feet of the Earl of Wiltshire, and perhaps his son and daughter too, although few dared to speak of it aloud, except among the closest and most trusted friends.

Nothing was ever proven, of course. With Anne so high in the King's favour, when he had every intention of making her the next Queen of England, no breath of scandal could be allowed to touch her, directly or indirectly. If there had been any evidence of her father's involvement, or even of her own, it would have been suppressed.

Jane couldn't help but wonder, and fear for her own safety if there was any truth to it.

If her father-in-law was prepared to attempt the murder of a bishop, one of the King's loyal servants, for siding with Queen Katherine ahead of his daughter, then he would not spare Jane if she dared to speak of her husband's affair with Smeaton. Her life would be forfeit and her father powerless to save her.

If only her father could have married her to an ordinary gentleman, a kind man of normal, natural appetites who would be prepared to love his bride and, if he could not do that, at least to respect her and treat her with kindness and courtesy in private and in public but when the Earl of Wiltshire proposed a marriage between his only son and Jane, it was an opportunity that her father was not prepared to allow to pass them by, even when the dowry she was required to bring to the marriage was so high that he could not afford to meet the Boleyns' demands.

The King stepped in to pay the dowry, something that pleased her father, as it was a mark of the high esteem in which her new family was held but, with hindsight, Jane wished that the King had refused to contribute so much as a shilling to her marriage portion, knowing that that would have been enough to convince the Earl not to proceed with the marriage, to look elsewhere for a bride whose family would be prepared to dower her as richly as he could wish, if it meant that they could be allied by marriage with one of the most powerful families in England.

Did he know what kind of a man his son was? Did he know of his perversities and press for the marriage in the hopes that once he was safely wedded, George would end his relationship with Smeaton and be content to settle down with his new bride and sire a family of his own?

If so, he would be disappointed and angry that his plan had failed, but he would be no unhappier about that than Jane was herself.

The Bible forbade a man to lie with another man. It was a mortal sin, a crime against the laws of England and, worse still, the laws of God and all those who flouted the law were doomed to spend eternity in purgatory, but the same fate would fall on Jane if she couldn't keep her husband from Smeaton's bed.

She was his wife. It was her duty to win his love and affections away from Smeaton, to keep him from sinning any longer, to encourage him to do penance and repent and thereby save his soul from the damnation that was the price for his sins.

She had failed and for that failure she would join him in purgatory.

* * *

"I have accompanied the King when he goes to visit the harlot," Brereton said in a low voice, his words meant only for Chapuys' ears. "He continues to visit daily, and appears to treat her with affection." He added softly, knowing that this news would disappoint Chapuys as much as it did him.

When the King began to pay marked attention to Mistress Seymour, who was known to be warmly disposed towards Mary, they hoped that the young woman would be able to exert a positive influence on him, her goodness and gentle nature acting as an antidote to the Concubine's witchcraft, which had blackened the King's soul and poisoned him towards his once beloved eldest daughter, but they had underestimated Anne, and her hold over him.

"Do you believe that you will be able to enter her rooms unseen?" Chapuys asked, getting to the heart of the matter. Once the Concubine was dead, there would be plenty of time for the King's affection for Mistress Seymour to be nurtured, in the hopes that she could restore Princess Mary to her rightful place, something that would not be possible while Anne lived.

Brereton shook his head regretfully. "No," he responded. "She is kept closely watched for the sake of the child. Her ladies-in-waiting are constantly with her during the day, and my informant in Anne's household tells me that two of them sleep in her chamber each night, together with the midwife, Mistress Porter, so that they may be on hand should she require anything during the night. It would not be possible for me to enter her chamber without one of her women waking and alerting the guard."

If it was God's will that he should be discovered, even made to pay with his life for carrying out His charge, then Brereton would willingly accept martyrdom, provided that he succeeded in his mission but if he was discovered before he could kill the harlot, then it would all be for nothing.

Chapuys looked disappointed by this, understandably so, but Brereton hastily gave him the good news.

"I can poison her." He said simply.

"What about the food tasters?" Chapuys asked immediately. The men charged with tasting the food of the royal family were well trained, able to detect poison no matter how skilfully it was concealed with spices, and even if they were able to find a tasteless poison, one that wouldn't be detected, they were only to kill the harlot, not the innocent men who were doing their duty by tasting her food.

A slow smile spread across Brereton's face. "They are not permitted entry to her chamber," he told him, thinking that the hand of God must surely be at work to provide him with this opportunity. "Anne's food is tasted _before_ it is brought to her apartments. Once the servers bring the trays in, her ladies ready her plate and bring it in for her. Naturally, they assume that it is safe. If the King visits her when she is due to eat her dinner, then I might be able to slip something into her food."

Chapuys was silent for a moment as he digested this information. "Do you think that it could work?" He asked cautiously.

"I do." Brereton's response was firm. "With God's help."

"Amen." Chapuys agreed. "Will you need me to find you a suitable poison?"

Brereton shook his head. "I can obtain it by myself." He assured him. Killing the King's harlot was his sacred duty, one that His Holiness himself had charged him with, and he had no intention of shirking any part of the task. "Has the Princess Mary... does she know that she will not have cause to fear the Concubine's malice much longer?"

"No," Chapuys responded immediately. "Although I regret having to withhold this hope from her, I believe that it is for the best that she remains unaware of our plans. If you fail, God forbid, then the Princess is safer if she is in ignorance, and if you succeed, the knowledge would only be a burden to her, and she has had to bear far too many of them already."

Brereton nodded acknowledgment of the truth of his words. Although part of him, the proud, vain part he tried to suppress, would wish that the Princess could know of what he was doing to champion her rights, all that really mattered was that he fulfilled his task, even if only Chapuys and His Holiness knew that it was he who acted as God's instrument in ridding England of the harlot.

"I will not fail." He promised, making the vow to God more than to Chapuys.

Chapuys nodded, laying a hand on his shoulder and regarding him with an expression of gratitude. "I will pray for your success."


	6. Chapter Five

**_4th April 1536_ **

For courtiers, much of their lives revolved around the King and Queen, whom it was their duty to serve and entertain.

When the Queen was obliged to absent herself from the court, her absence was regretted, not because she was well loved – while she had friends, no man could deny that she also had many enemies – but because without her, and without the ladies who tended to her and who now shared her seclusion and would until she was delivered of her child, there were fewer masques and jousts, and her rooms were no longer the venue for impromptu gatherings, where gentlemen and ladies could mingle freely.

When the King was busy, visiting his wife or meeting with his council or closeted with Master Cromwell to work on matters of state, those outside his close circle of advisors were left at rather a loose end, and could often be seen loitering in the corridors and reception chambers outside his quarters, waiting for him to emerge and hoping that when he did, they would be one of the favoured few invited to join him for a game of tennis, or to ride with him when he went hunting.

It was not unusual for the courtiers to wait upon the pleasure of their sovereigns thus; Chapuys had spent time in the Emperor's court, and in others and he knew that it was proper that the King and Queen should be at the heart of their court, but even so, it seemed that the members of the English court were more dependent on their King and Queen and their favour than their counterparts in other countries were.

Today, he had not been asked to join the King and Master Cromwell as they spoke, as he had on other occasions in recent months and, despite the fact that he suspected that the reason for his exclusion was that the other men planned to discuss the possibilities of an alliance with France and the betrothal of the King's little bastard to a French prince, prospects that the Emperor feared and which could not be freely discussed with his ambassador present, Chapuys was not entirely disappointed to have the opportunity to mingle among the courtiers, his sharp ears peeled for anything that might be said about Anne and her condition, or about how the common people of England viewed their so-called Queen now that Queen Katherine was dead.

He was dismayed to hear scatterings of conversation between two lords, describing the prayers being said across the country for the delivery of a healthy son, prayers that appeared to be genuine, with many of the people happily anticipating the arrival of a prince.

Another cheerfully predicted that once the prince was born it would not be long before the Lady Mary was forgotten.

Once, in a moment of hopelessness, after she learned that her husband had entered into a mockery of marriage with the harlot and that she carried a child, Queen Katherine quietly remarked that if Anne succeeded where she had failed and gave the King a living son, the English people would be delighted, regardless of the circumstances, and that there would be many among them who would wish to believe that the boy was born in wedlock and who might even succeed in convincing themselves that this was true if it meant that they could have a prince to look to as their next King. Perhaps they would even believe that, since he was able to get a son with Anne, Henry was right when he said that their marriage was unlawful and accursed.

Her own position did not concern her as much, but she feared that if Anne produced a son, Mary would lose the support of the people who now championed her rights and if that happened, who would protect Mary when her father tried to disinherit her? Even the Emperor would not be able to win and keep the throne on Mary's behalf if the people were against her.

Chapuys was troubled by her hopelessness, accustomed to seeing her strong and determined, no matter what indignities were heaped on her, no matter how lonely and neglected she was and he staunchly insisted that this was not the case, that no matter how many sons the harlot managed to produce, the English people would never be willing to accept one of her bastards as heir to the throne ahead of a legitimate princess, even if that bastard was a boy, and that they would never accept the King's mistress as their Queen ahead of his true, lawful wife but now he was beginning to wonder if Queen Katherine's words were truer than he initially thought.

It was difficult – though not impossible – for him to believe that people could be so foolish as to delude themselves into believing that a child born to the Concubine could be trueborn, regardless of what title the King chose to call it by or that they would accept it as heir, not when their supposed marriage took place during the lifetime of the King's true wife, and when the King had a legitimate daughter who was surely the rightful heir to the throne, and who would remain so unless the King, a widower in Chapuy's eyes since Queen Katherine's death, remarried and fathered a son by his second wife.

As he passed through the crowds, he saw Mistress Seymour standing near a window, speaking quietly to another young woman, and he walked over to her, bowing almost as low as he would have for a lady of the royal family.

"Lady Jane." He greeted her pleasantly. "I hope that I find you well?"

"I am very well, thank you, Ambassador Chapuys." She said politely, curtsying in response to his bow and smiling shyly at him before lowering her gaze modestly.

He returned her smile, regarding her with approval. By all accounts – at least save those of Anne's friends, who seemed to be determined to blacken her name so that she might look better by comparison – Mistress Seymour was a good, virtuous woman, one who refused to accept the gifts the King would willingly have showered on her and who only spoke with him when they were chaperoned by her father or her brother. Unlike the harlot who, under the guidance of her ruthless, ambitious father and uncle, refused the King's advances in the hopes of inflaming his passion so that she might supplant Queen Katherine, pleading virtue and a desire to go to her marriage bed as an untouched maiden, when she was really motivated by ambition and knew that her refusal would fan the flames of his passion and allow her a chance at seizing the throne, Mistress Seymour refused to become his mistress because her conscience would not permit her to do so, and the King respected that, taking steps to protect her from gossip and scandal.

It boded well for the future of the relationship, once the harlot was removed; since the King clearly loved her but did not expect her to become his mistress, he might look to make her his wife and if he did, England would have a Queen who could be relied upon to promote Princess Mary's interests and to encourage her restoration, an outcome that Chapuys desired above all others.

"The Emperor asked me to convey his warmest greetings to you, Lady Jane," he said quietly as soon as her companion moved away to allow them some privacy, seeing her eyes widen at the thought that a man as powerful as the Emperor had taken an interest in her. "He thanks you for your efforts to speak to the King on Princess Mary's behalf."

"How is the Princess?" Jane asked at once, her tone as low as his as she used the forbidden title.

"Alas, she is not as well as I would wish." Chapuys said sorrowfully. "It weighs heavily on her spirits that she is not permitted to visit the court, and that His Majesty refuses to visit her or to write to her, and that he ignores the letters she sends him."

"I asked that he invite her back to court," Jane confided in him, "but he said that he will not until she agrees to obey him."

This did not come as any surprise to Chapuys, but he feigned shock and disappointment, tutting disapprovingly and shaking his head sadly at the thought. "I am sorry to hear that you were unable to persuade him, madam, though I thank you for trying." He said quietly. "There are not many people with the courage to speak of the Princess to her father."

"I will try again." Jane promised impulsively. "Surely the King can't refuse forever. I truly believe that he loves his daughter, and that he wishes for her to be restored. It's just that since the Queen is with child, he must be very careful not to make her angry and unhappy, for the sake of the child, and she wouldn't like it if she thought that he still cared for Princess Mary."

"I believe that you are right, Lady Jane," Chapuys agreed. "The Queen" his mouth tightened disapprovingly at the title, the one that he couldn't feel comfortable applying to Anne, even with Queen Katherine dead, "is eager to promote the interests of her own children, and she would resent it if the King showed an interest in his daughter. She is – if you will forgive me for saying so in your presence," he added, knowing that Jane was unlikely to object to his words and that she was very likely to agree with him, "a very jealous woman, one who perceives a threat whenever His Majesty shows affection to another, even if it is his own child or if the friendship is an innocent one, as your friendship with the King is."

"Yes." Jane frowned at the thought of the gossip that had portrayed her as a whore whose shameless philandering with a married man had almost caused his wife to lose her unborn child, gossip that she was sure the Queen's friends deliberately fuelled by circulating fresh rumours whenever it looked as though the gossip might be dying down. Maybe they even hoped that if the stories reached the King's ear, he would come to blame her for what had happened and turn against her.

"I am certain that it was her wish that Princess Mary be sent to wait upon the Lady Elizabeth, and the princess shares my view." Chapuys mused aloud, intentionally applying the title the King had decreed was to be Mary's, when he first declared her a bastard, to her half-sister, and stretching the truth somewhat. Although Mary remained convinced that it was Anne's malign influence that prompted her father to humiliate her by forcing her to wait on the baby, a decision he would never have made by himself, he wasn't as certain of this as she was. The King was a cunning man, and he was angry over his elder daughter's decision to stand by her mother and against him. Chapuys wouldn't put it past him to have made the decision independently, to put his daughter in her place and to punish her for her defiance. "She wanted the Princess to be humiliated, and she has her wish. The treatment meted out to her…" He trailed off, shaking his head and knowing that the suggestion of mistreatment would be enough to rouse Jane's indignation on Mary's behalf even further.

"Surely they don't dare to treat her cruelly!" She protested. "She is a King's daughter, and he is very fond of her." Although Jane hated the idea of the true princess being forced to act as a maid in waiting to Elizabeth, she had assumed that Mary would be treated with at least the courtesy and respect accorded to the other nobly born ladies who tended to the child, if not the treatment her rank demanded, closer to the way the Queen's ladies in waiting were treated rather than the way a menial servant would be.

While it was not fitting for a princess to have to act as a maid-in-waiting, those who tended to the needs of a royal child held an honoured position and were treated accordingly. She hadn't thought that they would dare to make an exception of Mary.

"She tells me that she is given the worst room in the house, a hovel scarcely fit for the lowest of the servants," he said, repeating Mary's exaggeration – surely no room in a royal residence could be as bad as she described it, and if it was, they would never dare to lodge a King's acknowledged daughter there, even if she _was_ a bastard – and embellishing it a little more. "She is always singled out by the child's governess for the most demeaning, degrading tasks, tasks fit only for a lowborn drudge, and this is something that the other maids of the household jeer at her for. She is locked in her room whenever the King visits the Lady Elizabeth, for fear that the sight of her might soften him towards her, and Lady Bryan has even dared to strike her on more than one occasion." He got slightly carried away with his tale of Mary's woes and, for a moment, feared that he had gone too far; that the portrait he painted of Mary's sufferings was too woeful to be believed but he was relieved to see from Jane's horrified expression that she accepted his story at face value, never thinking to question whether or not he might be exaggerating.

"His Majesty can't know of this!" She insisted. He was so kind and gentle to her that she couldn't believe that he would allow his own child to be treated in that way, not when he once cherished and adored her so much. If he knew of it, he would surely put a stop to it and punish those responsible, bringing poor Mary back to court where she belonged. "I will tell him and…"

"Forgive me, Lady Jane, but I do not believe that would be wise." Chapuys interrupted. The last thing he wanted was for the King to know that she had been speaking with him in secret, in case he believed that Jane was being used as an Imperial spy and abandoned his friendship with her, robbing both him and Mary of an ally with the potential to help them a great deal. "I don't think that His Majesty would be prepared to believe it – as you say, he cannot know of the Princess' treatment and surely believes that she is being well treated – but if the Queen, and the woman, Lady Bryan, lie to him and convince him that the Princess is exaggerating her woes in an attempt to make him feel guilty about his decision to send her to Hatfield." _As he ought to,_ he added silently. "It may turn him against her and that is something that she cannot afford. The Princess is brave and bears her suffering nobly," he praised her, "and I believe that she grieves more for the loss of her father's love than for the loss of her position – and, of course, she mourns for her poor mother."

"Of course." Jane echoed sympathetically, knowing that Princess Mary was at an age when a young girl needed her mother badly.

Chapuys studied her face closely, wondering how much he could trust her, how far he could safely push her. "It is difficult for a young girl to be without her mother," he said softly, unconsciously echoing Jane's thoughts, "and the Princess is at an age where she should be thinking of marriage and motherhood – but what marriage can be possible for her, if she has nobody to speak to the King on her behalf and to encourage him to find a husband for her. If Queen Katherine was still alive, still Queen, then she would encourage the King to choose a suitor for the Princess and help him select a kind, honourable man of royal blood, but Queen Anne is interested only in the marriage of her own daughter. The Princess badly needs a woman to stand in her mother's place – and who knows?" He added, keeping his tone light. "Perhaps one day soon, she will have a kind stepmother to care for her… as you do, Lady Jane."

Jane's eyes widened at this. Surely he couldn't mean that she… "Queen Anne is alive," she said softly, "and with child."

Sensing that it would be best not to push her any further or to reveal anything else, Chapuys smiled pleasantly, as though this was happy news for him. "Indeed she is." He remarked agreeably. "And yet…"

"Ambassador?" Jane pressed when he trailed off.

He smiled at her. "One cannot know what the future will hold, can one?"

When he was first approached about the possibility of being the one to kill the King's whore, Brereton had accepted the task, proud to be the one singled out to do this service for His Holiness, the one trusted with the mission of ridding England and all of Christendom of the woman who was wreaking untold harm on their world, to be the one who would free the King of the evil spell he had been placed under, but although he had not spoken of it, although he had resolved that he would carry out his task without hesitation, regardless of his personal feelings, he had some reservations about what he was asked to do.

The taking of a life, any life, was not a decision to be taken lightly and the secrecy of his mission, however necessary that secrecy was, caused him some qualms. The punishment of sinners and criminals was a solemn duty, and even they were entitled to a trial before their guilt was determined and to the opportunity to speak in their own defence and to produce evidence of their innocence. Justice demanded no less. Even if they were found guilty and sentenced to death, they could claim the ancient right to die in public, before the people, and to address them before they met their end.

In this case, no trial could be allowed. Anne's death would have to be accomplished by stealthy means and in such a way that it could not be traced back to the man who decreed that she should die.

His Holiness wished for the King's whore to die and he was infallible, his rulings divinely inspired. Anne must therefore be guilty, her death the will of God but even so, Brereton had hesitated, had wanted to give her one last opportunity to withdraw voluntarily, to end her relationship with the King, to encourage him to return to Queen Katherine and then to leave the court and never return, to retire either to her family's home, Hever Castle, or preferably to a religious community where she could repent of her sins and thereby save her immortal soul.

He took a grave risk slipping into her apartments to leave behind his message, a message he prayed she would recognize as a warning and take heed of, but it was a risk he felt that he had to take.

He could not kill her without first giving her an opportunity to save herself.

It was strange to think that something as simple as three playing cards, objects so commonplace that Anne's waiting lady would never give them a second glance, even if she happened to see them as she went about her duties, could be used to send his message. He wrote a letter on each of the three cards, setting them in a neat row on the writing desk and cutting the third, the queen card labelled with an 'A', in two, severing the head from the body before hurrying away, trusting that the harlot was intelligent enough to recognize the message of warning for what it was and hoping that she would heed it.

She had not.

She neither left the court, nor attempted to discourage the King's affections and when he glimpsed her at supper that evening, she was in good spirits, laughing and joking with the King and taking part in the dancing with her usual grace and enthusiasm, with no indication that she was in the least bit troubled by the message.

Brereton was sorry to see it but it strengthened his resolve. He had given her her chance and she chose not to take it. The consequences for her choice were of her own making.

He thought that he would be able to put an end to her in France, hoping that the deed might even be attributed to French mercenaries, which would mean that no possible suspicion could fall on His Holiness, but by the time he was able to slip away from the festivities to make his way to the opulent rooms provided for the harlot by her royal host, the King had joined her and he couldn't make any move against her while he was present.

If he had arrived a few minutes earlier, it could have been so different. The King would have arrived to find the dead body of his mistress and however much he grieved for her, however angry he was that she was slain, he could not restore her life.

If he brought her back to England, it would be to bury her.

Instead, he had failed and as a consequence of this failure, he was obliged to be a witness to the union between King and Concubine, a service presided over by a priest who would surely burn in Hell for all eternity for daring to flout the wishes of the pope and for making a mockery of the sacrament of marriage by solemnizing this unholy, bigamous union with a pretence of the sacred rites.

Perhaps the King thought that he was honouring Brereton by inviting him to be one of the few people permitted to witness the union, an invitation that plainly indicated that he was a trusted member of the King's inner circle as the marriage was to be kept a closely guarded secret until the arrival of the papal bulls confirming Cranmer as Archbishop, which would be used as a pretext to give him the authority to investigate the validity of the marriage of the King and Queen Katherine and to pronounce judgement on it, but for Brereton it was the penance he had to do for his failure to carry out his charge.

His next opportunity came during her coronation procession. The route the procession would be taking to the church where she would be crowned was mapped out in advance and he chose his vantage point carefully, readying his weapon and waiting, scarcely daring to breathe, so that he could fire the instant she passed into view, killing her in the very moment of her great triumph and putting an end to her power over the King, once and for all.

If he succeeded, the King would surely realize that he was wrong to seek to displace Queen Katherine. Brereton would be a humble instrument of the Lord, delivering His message and showing the King that he should return to his true wife immediately and resume his allegiance to the pope, before it was too late for him and for England.

He missed.

He misjudged the distance and by the time he reloaded, the carriage bearing the King and his harlot had passed out of view, leaving him with no choice but to run, to dispose of his weapon and to pray that he would not be discovered, that he would have the chance to try again.

He spent many hours doing penance, atoning both for his failure and for the life of the groom, the man struck and killed by the shot intended for the harlot, another of her innocent victims.

This time, he would not – _could_ not – fail.

This time, the harlot would die, and her child with her.

Princess Mary would be restored to her rightful place and the country and its King would be saved from heresy and damnation.

Today was the day.

There would be no more delays.

The vial in his hands was slender and innocuous but the contents were deadly; a white powder, to be sprinkled liberally on her food and that was potent enough to kill her, even if she had little appetite for the meal it seasoned and only ate a small amount. The man from whom he purchased it swore on his life that it would not fail. He had not asked who the poison was intended for, had not wanted to know the identity of the man purchasing it. All he cared about was the pouch of money Brereton gave him in exchange for the poison and for his silence.

The effects should not be immediate, the man told him, it might be a full hour before the person who took the poison began to feel unwell and another hour before they realized that it was no trifling upset but by then it would be too late.

Slipping the vial into his pocket, he waited for the King to emerge from his rooms so that he could accompany him when he visited Anne.

It was almost noon; her dinner would be brought to her while they were there.

The King was in good spirits as he led the way to Anne's apartments, a few of his personal attendants following close behind him, glad to be allowed to accompany him. Even if they were forbidden to set foot in the Queen's bedchamber, they would still have a chance to converse with her ladies, some of the prettiest women at court, while they waited for their master.

The heavy wooden door leading into Anne's apartment was opened by a sentry as they approached and the King walked straight in, acknowledging the deep curtsies of the ladies with a quick smile and a nod before passing through the curtained archway leading into the bedchamber.

Lady Mary Stafford emerged a moment later, leaving them alone together.

Brereton could hear the King's gentle greeting and imagine him kissing her and, after a few moments, he heard snatches of their conversation, as Anne spoke animatedly about the letter she had received from Lady Bryan about little Elizabeth's progress, the pride and tenderness in her voice obvious to all who heard her as she related stories of her child's exploits.

She almost made him waver.

Whatever else could be said of her, she was a loving and affectionate mother to her child, passionately devoted to little Elizabeth, always concerned with her welfare and eager for her visits. He had seen her love for the child with his own eyes, watched Anne play with the toddler in the gardens, holding her close and stroking her hair as they fed the fishes in the fountain.

Despite himself, the scene had touched him and he had to remind himself that even her love for her child changed nothing. A wild beast could care for its offspring even as it devoured the young of another animal and Anne was no different.

She was capable of loving her child while harming Katherine's daughter, she was determined to promote her daughter's interests at all times but she did not care that it was at Princess Mary's expense that she did this. By cultivating the King's affection for little Elizabeth while discouraging any tenderness he cherished towards his elder daughter, she was usurping his love to benefit her daughter, just as she had usurped the titles and honours belonging to the true princess on her child's behalf, ignoring the suffering this caused the King's other daughter, his trueborn daughter.

Elizabeth was a little child now, too young to be able to see the evil that had corrupted her mother's soul, rotting her from the inside out, or to understand that she was a witch, unworthy of her child's love. She would grieve for her mother, that was natural, but in the long run, it was better for her that she suffer the pain of her loss at this early age than that her mother's malign influence should infect her as she grew to adulthood, better that she forget that she had ever had a mother like that and that she could transfer her love to a good, virtuous stepmother, who could see to it that she was brought up to be a good, obedient, pious child who loved and honoured God as she ought to, and to Princess Mary, who was tender-hearted and would be a second mother to her, never holding it against the child that it had been for her sake that she was repudiated, or that the harlot had caused Mary's sainted mother such pain and grief.

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of four servers, flanked by eight sentries, two of the servers bearing gold trays with domed covers while the third carried a large tureen and the fourth carried a carafe, goblet, plate and cutlery on a smaller tray.

By now, Anne's ladies were accustomed to the routine, as were the servers, who carried their burdens over to the large table and set them down, uncovering the trays and bowing to the ladies before leaving the room. Once they were gone, two of the ladies, Nan Saville and Lady Alice Weston, the young woman Brereton had befriended, moved to ready the plates, under the direction of Mistress Porter, who determined what should be served to Anne today.

Seeing his opportunity, Brereton moved over to Lady Alice, greeting her in a low voice. "Good afternoon, Lady Alice." He bowed slightly.

"Master Brereton." She smiled warmly at him, dipping a slight curtsey as she uncovered the tureen, which was full of a thick, savoury stew.

Mistress Porter peered over her shoulder at the stew, nodding her satisfaction. "Give that to Her Majesty first. She ought to eat more meat." She instructed, waiting for Lady Alice to nod obediently before moving to inspect the chicken and the salad Nan was readying.

"Let me help you." Brereton hastened to take the ladle from her hand before she could spoon up a portion of the stew. "It's heavy." While Lady Alice simpered her thanks, clearly delighted by his attention, he surreptitiously uncorked the vial, emptying the contents into the stew and stirring it quickly, before Lady Alice could see the film of white powder on its surface, before tucking the empty vial into his pocket and scooping up a generous ladleful and filling the plate Lady Alice held, watching as she carried it through to the bedchamber.

Although the other men who had accompanied the King on this visit were speaking and laughing with Anne's ladies, while the musician, Smeaton, played a soft melody from his position near the window, Brereton was deaf to everything but the sound of low voices floating in from Anne's bedchamber as her meal was set out in front of her and the King encouraged her to eat.

He scarcely dared to breathe until he heard the soft scrape of her fork against the plate, closing his eyes as he pictured her bringing the food to her lips.


	7. Chapter Six

**_4th April 1536_ **

Although she had stopped being sick in the mornings by the third month of her pregnancy, before she was confined to her bed, Anne still found that the sight and smell of certain foods could make her feel queasy. The smell of the plate of stew Lady Alice brought her was strong and her stomach churned as she stirred the gravy with her fork before picking up a piece of meat and bringing it to her lips.

"Is something wrong, sweetheart?" Henry asked, noticing her slight grimace as she chewed.

"It tastes a little strange... sweet." She said after she swallowed, smiling a little. "It's nothing." Occasionally, other foods tasted slightly odd, something that Mistress Porter insisted was not unusual for a woman in her condition, as her unborn child could sometimes cause her senses to fool her. She considered requesting something else but reasoned that whatever else they provided her with was unlikely to be more tempting so she continued with the stew.

"Good." Satisfied that she was eating well, Henry turned the conversation to their daughter. "Francis is sending envoys to the court to arrange Elizabeth's marriage with the Duke of Anglomeme," he explained cheerfully, "and I thought that it would be a good idea to bring Elizabeth up from Hatfield so that she can be presented to them," he smiled as he warmed to his theme, "she's old enough for it now, and they can report back to Francis about how beautiful England's princess is and how fortunate the young Duke is. She should stay at the court afterwards," he mused aloud, "until the baby is born. She should be here to meet her brother and attend the christening."

He and Cromwell had also discussed the idea of whether or not the Lady Mary should be invited to the court, and whether or not she was to be permitted to attend the birth and the christening of the heir but he decided against mentioning that to Anne, at least for the moment. Speaking of Mary could upset her sometimes and as nothing had been decided yet, as he and Cromwell couldn't decide whether it would be better to have Mary there so that she could be seen to acknowledge the heir with her presence or whether it was better not to draw any attention to her than was necessary, there was no need to distress her over it.

"I think that's a wonderful idea." Anne told him, swallowing as vomit rose in her throat, reaching for the goblet of water by her bedside and taking a sip before continuing to eat.

"Then I'll arrange it straight away – and, if you're not too tired, you can choose the fabrics and the designs for her gowns. We will have to make sure that she looks her best for the visit, won't we? I want everybody to see how beautiful our daughter is."

Anne nodded, wincing as her stomach cramped and her baby kicked, as if in protest.

"Anne, what is it?" Henry asked, noticing that her face had paled slightly and that her expression betrayed her pain.

"I don't know." She pressed her hand to her mouth as bile rose in her throat, knocking her plate and the folding table on which it was set off her lap as she leaned over the side of her bed, retching.

"Anne!" He caught her by the shoulders, supporting her, calling as loudly as he could. "Mistress Porter! Lady Mary!"

His sister-in-law and the midwife hurried into the room, with Mary hurrying to Anne's side, smoothing her hair away from her forehead and crying out in alarm as she began to shiver uncontrollably, snatching a silver bowl from the washstand and holding it in front of Anne as she retched.

"What has happened, Your Majesty?" Mistress Porter demanded of him, her keen eyes taking in Anne's state, together with the plate of food upended on the floor. "She was well enough this morning, no sign of sickness." Her eyes widened, her gaze drawn to the plate on the floor. "Until she began to eat..."

"Poison!" Henry pushed past her, storming out into the outer chamber, stalking past the people outside, ignoring their astonished gasps and hushed questions about what was happening, flinging open the door, barking an order at one of the guards stationed outside to send for Dr Linacre, ordering the others not to allow anybody else to leave the room, on penalty of death before turning back to the bewildered people inside. "The Queen has been poisoned." He announced. "And I believe that one of you is responsible."

* * *

The King was angry, his expression livid as he paced the room, refusing to allow any of the bewildered, frightened ladies in waiting or his own attendants to leave, not yet.

Only Dr Linacre and half a dozen of the palace guards were allowed to enter, the former ordered straight in to tend to Anne while the latter were instructed to make sure that nobody tried to leave the room, or to discard any object until their turn came to be searched and questioned.

Brereton watched as he quizzed Lady Alice, seized upon as the first and most likely suspect as it had been she who brought in the tainted stew, conscious of the fact that the empty vial in his pocket, still bearing faint traces of the powder, would be evidence enough to condemn him should it be discovered on his person and praying fervently that the young woman would be able to summon the strength she needed to remain silent, to know that her silence would be her best defence, that it was God's will that she not betray him.

Or was it?

The poison was not supposed to act so quickly.

Anne shouldn't have become sick until after she finished her meal, after the King had left her, with Brereton accompanying him, giving him ample time to dispose of the incriminating vial, to meet with Chapuys who could arrange safe passage out of England for him, allowing him to escape to Rome, to seek shelter with His Holiness, while at the same time guaranteeing that by the time anybody thought that something had happened or that they needed to send for a physician, it would be too late for them to do anything for her.

Why had God made the poison work faster, why had He intervened to help the harlot when His servant was trying to destroy her, to save England's soul?

Had it been God's will that His servant would fail, or the Devil's?

Was the Devil, to whom Anne had sold her soul in exchange for the Queen's crown, so powerful that he had been able to save his unholy disciple from her deserved retribution at the hands of God's servant?

If the Devil was prepared to intervene to save Anne, then only God would be able to help Brereton now.

All sound seemed to fade from the room as he watched Lady Alice turn to him, her face wet with tears as she pointed an accusing finger at him. Her lips moved but there was only silence, from her, from the King and from the guards as they turned their attention to him. Two of the guards moved to take him by the upper arms, holding him in place as the King walked towards them.

Denials would avail him nothing. He knew that.

As the King moved towards him, his expression stony at the thought that one of his own servants could have been responsible for an attempt on Anne's life, Brereton put his hand in his pocket, before withdrawing it and holding his hand out to him, palm-up, revealing the vial.

* * *

"Come now, Your Majesty," Dr Linacre encouraged, tipping another dose into the small glass goblet and passing it to Mistress Porter, who held the Queen steady as she forced the liquid into her mouth, wiping stray drops away from her lips with a linen napkin and motioning for Lady Mary Stafford to hold the basin in front of Anne as she vomited, the emetic – the strongest he dared to give her in her condition – forcing her body to purge itself of the poison. "Just a few more doses."

"She's so sick already!" Mary protested, frightened by how white Anne was, her hair damp with sweat and matted to her forehead. She was barely unconscious, almost unaware of what was happening around her, allowing them to force the doses into her without fighting. She didn't have the strength to fight.

Dr Linacre didn't even spare her a glance as he gently grasped Anne's wrist, estimating the speed of her heartbeat as he answered. "I know that, Lady Mary, but we cannot take any chances, not with poison. We must make sure that every trace of it leaves her body." He explained as he measured out another dose and passed it to Mistress Porter to give to her. "We cannot allow any of it to remain to do harm to the Queen or to the child."

From the next room, they could hear the sound of one of the ladies being questioned, her tearful protestations of innocence and insistence that she loved the Queen and would never, ever do anything to harm her in any way, could hear her accuse another person, on whom the attention of the King and his guards was immediately fixed. After another few moments the order came to take somebody, a man, to the Tower. They wanted to know who but that wasn't important for them, not now.

When they had made sure that Anne was safe, then they could worry about the identity of the person responsible.

After several more doses of the emetic, after which Anne was only bringing up mouthfuls of bitter fluid, Dr Linacre finally pronounced himself satisfied that there could be nothing left of the poison she had ingested, thanking God that she had only taken a few mouthfuls of the stew.

"I never thought that I would have cause to be thankful that Her Majesty is a poor eater, even at the best of times, but it may have saved her life today." Mistress Porter remarked, passing Anne's limp form into Mary's arms and allowing her to support her while she filled a goblet with water and held it to Anne's lips, encouraging her to drink. "Just a few sips, at least, Your Majesty," she said kindly, holding it steady while Anne obeyed, "we must make sure that you replenish the fluids you have lost."

It was doubtful whether Anne heard much of what was being said around her but she drank, eager to wash the sour, bitter taste from her mouth, before sinking back against the pillows, exhausted while Mary washed her face with a damp cloth.

"How is she?" Henry demanded, hurrying into the room once Brereton had been hauled away to the Tower for questioning, his anxious eyes fixed on Anne.

"I have done all I can for the Queen, Your Majesty," Dr Linacre told him. "If we are fortunate, we will have come to her assistance in time and it will be enough to preserve her life."

"And our child?"

Dr Linacre shook his head regretfully. "That is in God's hands, Your Majesty." He said quietly, privately thinking that after the Queen had come so close to losing her child in January, it would be a miracle if the baby was able to cling to life after the added strain placed on her body today but it had already proved that it was strong enough to survive once before, so perhaps they would be lucky again this time. "We will do all we can for her, and we will have to pray that it will be enough."

"We should change the bed," Mistress Porter spoke up, needing to be able to do something constructive, "and change the Queen into a clean nightgown."

Dr Linacre nodded, excusing himself and leaving the room to allow the two women privacy as they tended to Anne. Henry didn't leave but he averted his eyes as Madge Shelton and Nan Saville entered and as they helped her out of her nightgown and into a clean one before dressing her in her furred nightrobe.

"Your Majesty?" Mary spoke up, her tone respectful.

"Hmm?" Henry asked, turning to look at her.

"We need to move Anne for a few minutes, to change the bed." She said quietly, supporting Anne and waiting for Henry to take her.

He picked her up and cradled her in his arms as he carried her out to the outer chamber, setting her gently down on a low couch and holding one of her limp hands in his as Madge followed them, tucking a fur cover over her legs.

"This is your first time out of your bedchamber in a while, isn't it?" He remarked, trying to keep his tone light, not wanting to frighten her any more than she must have been already. She nodded mutely, shivering despite the heat of the blazing fire only a couple of yards away. "Are you cold?" He asked gently, not waiting for her to answer before tucking the fur cover more closely around her, touching her face and finding it cool and clammy to his touch.

It seemed to take a few moments for his question to penetrate her mind and when it did, she shook her head slightly in response. "No." Her voice was soft and she was silent for a few more minutes afterwards before she said anything else. "Who was it?"

"Don't worry about that, sweetheart, not now." He tried to reassure her, not wanting her to know who it was, to know that a man who he had trusted, who had lived closely with them for so long, who had tried to kill her.

"It was the Lady Mary!" She exclaimed suddenly, sitting up, her eyes wide as she stared past his shoulder into the heart of the fire. "She ordered it! She doesn't want us to have our son! She wants me dead! I know that she wants me dead!" She insisted, her voice becoming louder and shriller as she made her allegations, tears springing to her eyes.

"No, sweetheart," he tried to comfort her, putting his arms around her and hugging her close to him, trying to calm her. "Mary wouldn't..."

"She would!" Anne insisted hysterically. "She hates me! She's always hated me, ever since we were married! She wouldn't acknowledge me as Queen and I know that she calls Elizabeth a bastard when she doesn't think that anyone will hear her – our daughter! She'd rather see me dead than let me give you a son!"

"Anne..."

"Oh my God!" She exclaimed, horrified, as though suddenly remembering something. "She's still at Hatfield – she's still part of Elizabeth's household, she could hurt her! You can't let her stay there! You can't let her hurt our child!"

"It's alright," he said soothingly, brushing her hair away from her face. "I'll send a message to Hatfield immediately, as soon as I leave you. I'll send orders that she is not to be allowed to wait on Elizabeth until further notice and, when you're feeling better, we'll talk about it then. If you still don't want Mary to be part of Elizabeth's household, I'll give orders for her immediate removal, okay?" Anne nodded and he cupped her chin in one hand, kissing her forehead and forcing himself to smile reassuringly, for her sake. The last thing Anne or the baby needed was for her to fret over this, or anything else. "It's over now, you're safe. I won't let anything like this happen to you again, I swear it. It's alright. Everything's alright."

* * *

_He and Chapuys must have been the only two people in the room whose mood was sombre that night. The rest of the court was happily celebrating Christmas but for them, it was far from a merry time and as they watched the King and his harlot together, they both felt a sinking disappointment._

_When Chapuys, who had recruited a network of spies both in the royal court and in the houses of several prominent nobles, first learned that the King had made Lady Eleanor Luke his mistress, it was an optimistic sign, the first since the harlot bore her child, a daughter instead of the son she promised and that the King so confidently expected. Sadly, Elizabeth's birth had not shown the King the error of his ways and prompted him to leave Anne and return to his true wife but they had hoped that through Lady Eleanor, the so-called Queen's hold over the King would be weakened, that he had learned that one woman was little different from another between the sheets. However, as they watched them together that night, watched the tenderness in the King's expression as he kissed Anne, they knew that it would take more than a mistress to drag her down._

_As long as she held the King's interest, as long as he visited her bed, she was a threat._

_They were lucky the first time, when her child proved to be a daughter, but if she conceived again, if she gave the King a son, then her power would be assured, as would Queen Katherine's destruction, and that of Princess Mary._

_"I could still do it." Brereton spoke quickly, wanting to assure the other man that although he had failed in his task before, there was still hope, he could still rid England of the harlot. "I could find a way to poison her."_

_"No." Chapuys responded shortly._

_"But I thought that was what we..."_

_"It would be blamed on my master. At the moment he does not need that – he has a war with the Turks to contend with."_

_"Well, why should anyone ever know?"_

_"Don't be stupid, Brereton," Chapuys responded, a definite trace of scorn in his voice. "They would find you and torture you, and you would tell them everything."_

_"No, I wouldn't." Brereton insisted. "I'd die a martyr's death."_

_"Hmph!" Chapuys scoffed. "You've never seen a man being tortured. Don't you understand? You don't act alone."_

Chapuys had never believed that he would be able to resist torture, believed that if he was caught, he would tell his interrogators everything he knew to spare himself the suffering he would endure under rack and iron for his silence.

He believed that he would betray His Holiness, that he would reveal that it was the pope who first called for the harlot to be killed, before she could do any more damage, a revelation that would surely be used against His Holiness by evil, heretical Lutheran sects who would undoubtedly seize the opportunity to paint the pope, God's representative on Earth, as an evil man who conspired in the murder of a woman, rather than as a holy man who spoke for God and who did His divine will in ensuring that a threat to Christendom was neutralized, that one of the Devil's witches was punished as she deserved.

He would not.

No matter what they did to them, he would never name His Holiness and if his interrogators suggested that he might be involved, he would deny it, even with his dying breath.

That was the thought he clung to as the man paid to tear information from the bodies of prisoners in the Tower approached him, the tip of the iron poker he held in one large, meaty hand burning with a red hot glow.

Whatever happened, he must protect His Holiness.

* * *

As he promised Anne he would, Henry went straight to his study as soon as he left her chamber and began to write a message, taking advantage of the time he had alone before the four men he had sent for, members of his privy council whom he trusted above all others, arrived to prepare a message intended for Lady Bryan, to be delivered to Hatfield with all possible speed, giving orders that the Lady Mary was to be immediately relieved of her duties as one of the maids in waiting in attendance on the Princess Elizabeth and that she was to be kept confined to her own chamber until he sent orders to the contrary.

Anne was so convinced that Mary was responsible for the attempt on her life and so terrified by the prospect that she might do something to hurt Elizabeth that he knew that there would be no reasoning with her, not in her present frame of mind. She was frightened, understandably so given the ordeal she had endured, and inclined to be hysterical so it was best to humour her for the moment, to put her mind at ease by any means necessary.

When she was feeling better, when they finished interrogating Brereton and he could go to her with reassurances that Mary had not been involved in any way, she could decide what she wanted to do then; if she preferred to keep Mary as one of Elizabeth's attendants, or if she would prefer her to be removed from Hatfield altogether.

If Anne did decide that she no longer wanted Mary to serve Elizabeth, that would not be such a bad thing, Henry mused as he dusted his letter with sand to dry the excess ink before folding the parchment and setting his seal on it, so that it could not be opened by anybody save its intended recipient, who would know that the letter was genuine.

If Mary was to be removed from Elizabeth's household, she could not go back to Ludlow Castle, her home when she was still mistakenly considered to be the Princess of Wales and which would, with the grace of God, be the home of the son Anne carried one day, when he was old enough to be sent to govern the principality, as was fitting for the Prince of Wales. Mary could not be housed in the state she had enjoyed as a legitimate princess, that would be both unfitting and it would send the wrong message to the people, but he had given his illegitimate son his own establishment at Durham House, so he could give his illegitimate daughter her own little household in one of his country manors if Anne remained insistent that Mary should not live with their daughter.

He handed it to the messenger, instructing him to ride straight to Hatfield without stopping for any reason and, as the messenger left, Brandon, the Duke of Norfolk and Thomas and George Boleyn entered, their expressions ranging between bewilderment and concern.

"My lords," Henry greeted them, motioning for them to take seats around the table.

"How is my daughter?" Thomas Boleyn asked immediately, moving to take the seat on Henry's right hand, something that drew grimaces from Brandon and Norfolk, both of whom outranked him and who felt that that place was one that they had more of a right to that he did.

Henry frowned at them; precedence was an undeniable, unavoidable part of life at court but, under the circumstances, as Anne's father, Boleyn could be forgiven if his concern for his daughter outweighed protocol. "She's well... as well as can be expected." He assured him, including George in the remark. "Dr Linacre has done everything he can and she's awake now and alert. We'll need to keep an eye on her for a couple of days but Linacre thinks that she's going to be fine."

"Thank God!" George exclaimed in heartfelt tones.

"Indeed." Boleyn echoed. "And the child? He is also well?"

Henry frowned at that, remembering Dr Linacre's words about how, as far as the baby was concerned, they would have to wait and see. "He hopes that he will survive, as do I." He said quietly, before looking up to meet the eyes of each of the other men in turn. "I hope that you'll all pray for him, and for the Queen."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Boleyn answered at once, his son seconding him with a nod, an example Norfolk swiftly followed, and Brandon a moment later.

"Do we know who was responsible for this vicious, underhanded attack?" The anger in Boleyn's tone was audible as he asked the question, furious at the thought that his daughter and unborn grandson had come so close to being murdered.

"William Brereton." Henry responded.

"But he is one of Your Majesty's grooms!" Brandon exclaimed immediately, his thoughtless remark drawing a glare from Henry.

"I am aware of that, my lord of Suffolk!" He snapped angrily. "It has not escaped my notice that the man who poisoned the Queen, my wife, the man who would have killed her and our unborn child if he could, was a member of my household, was one of my personal attendants, trusted with the care of my person, for over three years!"

The thought was a horrific one. For more than three years, Brereton lived at court, as one of Henry's grooms, serving in his chamber and tending to his personal needs, occasionally being the man entrusted with the task of sleeping by his bed and guarding him on the nights when he wasn't sharing Anne's bed... or that of one of his mistresses. He was trusted and he lived in close proximity with Henry, closer than most of the court did, a great honour and a great trust.

And that trust had been bestowed upon a man who had tried to kill the Queen and the prince she carried.

Would Henry have been his next target, once Anne and their unborn child were disposed of?

"What if this isn't the first time that he has tried to kill the Queen?" Norfolk suggested. "During the Queen's coronation procession – when Your Grace was acting as High Constable," he added, looking across the table at Brandon his words a pointed reminder of the fact that he was ultimately responsible for ensuring the safety of the royal couple that day and that it was only luck that kept him from failing in his duty to them. "There was an attempt made to shoot either Your Majesty or the Queen, was there not? The shooter was never caught. Perhaps that was also Brereton's doing."

Henry nodded. It made sense. "That will be investigated."

"I wonder..." Boleyn mused aloud, seeing an opportunity and seizing it. "When the Queen miscarried almost two years ago, it struck me as odd that such a thing could happen. She is young and healthy and she had nothing but the best of care so there was no reason for her to lose the child." If he remembered that he had berated his daughter when he learned of her mishap, demanding to know what she had done to cause her to lose the child, his guileless expression gave no indication of it. "Perhaps Brereton managed to poison her then, without her knowledge or ours, lacing her food with a potion to make her miscarry." Seeing from Henry's face that he was giving the possibility serious consideration and knowing that if he accepted the theory as fact, it would absolve Anne of responsibility for her previous failure, he did not press it any further, turning the subject slightly. "Brereton cannot have been acting alone." He stated positively.

"My Lord Wiltshire is right." Norfolk agreed, seizing the opportunity to show himself to be helpful in this matter. "As a man, William Brereton gains nothing if Queen Anne is killed, or if Your Majesty's son dies before he even has a chance to draw his first breath, so we must assume that he is in the employ of another, somebody who would profit from her death."

Henry nodded his agreement, calmed somewhat by this logic. "Who?" He asked simply.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," After being snapped at once, Brandon's tone was hesitant as he spoke, "but Queen Anne has many enemies, in England and abroad. Any of them could have been the one behind this attempt."

"The Emperor has never been pleased about your marriage to my daughter," Boleyn pointed out. "It would not surprise me if he still harboured resentment over the annulment of his aunt's marriage to Your Majesty, and over the Lady Mary's removal from the line of succession, as is fitting for a bastard – I believe that he attempted to put pressure on Your Majesty to go against your previous ruling, and that of Archbishop Cranmer to force you to acknowledge her as a legitimate princess and restore her as heir. He may have accepted the necessity of acknowledging Anne as Queen in order to secure an alliance with England, but I don't doubt that he would prefer it if she was not a part of the deal."

Henry was silent for a moment as he digested this, knowing that there was a lot of truth in Boleyn's words. The Emperor had never liked Anne, had always supported Katherine while she was alive, putting pressure on the pope to declare in her favour and against him, and putting pressure on King Francis to go back on his word to acknowledge Anne as Queen and Elizabeth as legitimate.

Now that Katherine was dead and he could make the concession without as much loss of face, he was prepared to acknowledge Anne as Queen and to support the continuation of their marriage and it was a concession that Henry knew that he would have made with great reluctance, but was he reluctant enough to want to kill her to avoid having to follow through on his promise?

"Brereton is known to speak with Ambassador Chapuys privately," Boleyn continued, his tone even as he spoke. "Perhaps he was also involved. He should certainly be questioned."

"I agree." Henry said, glancing at Norfolk. "You will escort the ambassador to his apartments and ensure that he remains there. Nobody is to speak with him and he is not to be allowed send any message until we have had the opportunity to investigate the possibility of his involvement."

"As Your Majesty wishes." Norfolk rose and, with a bow, left the room to carry out his charge.

"What about the Lady Mary?" George blurted the possibility unthinkingly but, even though he saw from his father's warning frown that this might have been a wrong move on his part, once he voiced the thought he had little alternative but to continue. "Ambassador Chapuys visited her not long ago, and they spoke in Spanish, didn't they, so that the witnesses Your Majesty ordered to be present couldn't understand what they said. Maybe they discussed the possibility of making an attempt on the Queen's life then, and once Chapuys told Brereton, all he had to do was wait for the chance to poison her food. If the Lady Mary hopes to be Queen one day – and since she has refused to take the Oath of Succession to acknowledge Princess Elizabeth's right to succeed, she must hope for her own succession one day – then the last thing she would want would be for the Queen to bear a healthy son."

Henry didn't acknowledge his brother-in-law's words, either to agree with the sentiment or to reprove him for it, and he dismissed the three men afterwards, automatically agreeing to Thomas Boleyn's request that he be allowed to assist with Brereton's interrogation, to find out why the man had tried to kill his daughter.

Try as he might, he couldn't ignore what George had said, couldn't ignore the fact that the theory was a sound, plausible one. Anne's tearful accusations could be put down to shock but George's words were not as easy to dismiss.

Had he sired a daughter who was so ruthless, so ambitious that she was prepared to condone or even to advocate the murder of a helpless woman, a woman she knew to be dearly loved by her father, a woman who carried an innocent child?

The thought was a painful one.

Surely Mary couldn't be such an undutiful daughter, capable of such evil!

He couldn't ignore that she had refused to obey him and to demonstrate her loyalty to him as her father and sovereign by taking the Oath of Succession when she was commanded to, an act of defiance that any other subject would have faced the executioner's axe for, but it was natural for a girl who was brought up to believe that she was a princess to shrink from the thought of acknowledging her illegitimacy, especially when she loved her mother dearly and would hate the idea of repudiating her.

There was a big difference between refusing to take an Oath and being prepared to commit murder.

He could not believe that Mary could be a murderess.

He would not believe it.

Even so, despite his attempts to convince himself that there could be no possibility of her involvement, he couldn't help but be glad that he had given orders that she was to be kept away from Elizabeth.

Just in case.

* * *

The pain was unbearable.

When he first agreed to undertake the task of killing the harlot, Brereton was aware that there was a possibility that he would be killed in the act if a guard should see him, just as he was aware that if he was caught, he would be tortured to force him to reveal who had charged him with the task.

He imagined what it would be like to be subjected to torture, building up the picture in his mind until it seemed as though he was being tortured in truth, focusing his energies on strengthening himself so that if the day came when he was called upon to prove his resolve, he would be ready. He would be able to keep silent, no matter what they did to him and he would reveal nothing.

Now that he was truly being tortured, he quickly discovered that his imagined sufferings utterly failed to live up to the reality and his resolve crumpled as he pleaded with his tormentors for mercy, apologizing abjectly for daring to harm Anne in any way, biting his tongue so hard that it bled when the temptation to speak became almost to strong to resist.

He could not betray His Holiness.

No matter what they did to him, he could not reveal that His Holiness was involved.

He did not know how long he had been here, bound in this dank, dismal room while one man tortured him while Master Cromwell watched impassively, asking questions and motioning for further pain to be inflicted when Brereton failed to answer them. It seemed as though he had been there for days, perhaps weeks, even though he knew in his mind that it could only have been a matter of hours.

They could keep him here for months, perhaps even years if he refused to speak.

His guilt was proven by the fact that the vial had been in his possession and he freely confessed to the deed. They could execute him whenever they chose and, as a poisoner, he would face the same terrible fate as the luckless Mr Rich, boiled alive in a giant cauldron.

He stood fast against Master Cromwell's coaxing promise that, should he give them the names of the people who acted as his accomplices, together with those of the people who had sought him out in order to get him to kill Queen Anne, he would be spared the terrible death of a poisoner and instead, of the King's mercy, be granted a quicker, easier death by decapitation but he came very close to agreeing, to breaking down and confessing that it had been at His Holiness' express request that he destroy the harlot.

He thought that he would have agreed, had the Earl of Wiltshire not chosen that moment to enter the room. The mere sight of that man, the man that Chapuys had described as an emissary of Satan and who had clearly instructed his daughter, who must once have been an innocent child, in his evil ways, the man who brazenly declared that he viewed Christ's holy apostles as liars and charlatans, strengthened his resolve.

He would not give that man a weapon to use against His Holiness and so he kept his silence, praying for strength and that the Devil would not inspire Boleyn to suggest that the pope was involved, for fear that his expression might give him away.

He almost wept with relief when he realized that the idea that His Holiness could have had anything to do with this had clearly never crossed Boleyn's mind. Instead, he focused on the Emperor, stating that they had many witnesses who had seen them speaking privately together, demanding to know if Chapuys was aware of his plans for the Queen, if he was an accomplice.

He tried not to speak.

He truly tried.

But when Boleyn ordered the man to continue with the torture, he couldn't bear it much longer and he felt his head nodding confirmation, against his will.

"Ambassador Chapuys knew of this? He encouraged it?" Boleyn pressed eagerly. He sensed that Cromwell, standing next to him, was not happy that he was pursuing this line of questioning but he ignored his stiffening posture and disapproval and continued. "Who else was involved? Why did you do this? Why now?"

With great effort, he managed to meet Boleyn's gaze, dismissing the possibility that the man would ever be able to understand why he did what he did, why he had to do what he did, but then looked to Cromwell, one of the few men who was trusted by the King, who had his ear and who Chapuys believed would be prepared to persuade the King to allow Princess Mary to succeed for the sake of securing an Imperial alliance.

He had to understand if he was to help.

He and Chapuys wanted to kill Anne, needed to keep her son from being born, because they wanted to ensure that Princess Mary became Queen of England. It was vital for England and all of Christendom that she succeed her father.

Every inch of his body ached, the pain so great that tears streamed from his eyes and his speech was slurred as he responded, so slurred that only a few of his words were audible.

"...Mary... wanted... be Queen..."


	8. Chapter Seven

**_4th April 1536_ **

"Are you sure that this is what he said?" Henry asked, staring at the parchment in front of him, on which Cromwell had recorded Brereton's testimony, on which his daughter's involvement was starkly spelled out in black ink, the response he had given when he was asked who told him to poison Anne and why he had done it.

_'Mary wanted to be Queen.'_

There was no way that he could deny the words in front of them, their meaning was too plain to allow him to deceive himself. He couldn't even persuade himself that Brereton was lying, not if he was working with Chapuys. The Imperial ambassador's desire to secure Mary's restoration as a princess and as the heir to the throne ahead of little Elizabeth was well known. If Chapuys was involved in this, then he and Brereton would be working to benefit Mary and would never do anything if they believed that it would threaten her safety. Brereton would never bear false witness against her, would never dream of naming her and revealing her complicity in his crimes, except when faced with the prospect of torture and, worse still, of dying with a lie on his lips.

"I am certain, Your Majesty." Cromwell's tone was cautious, as though he knew how much this news was hurting Henry. "His testimony was recorded exactly, and witnessed by myself and the Earl of Wiltshire."

For a fleeting moment, Henry wondered if his former secretary, now his Lord Chancellor might have considered the idea of lying, of concealing the evidence of Mary's treachery to spare him the pain the knowledge would cause him if it were not for the fact that Thomas Boleyn was also present when Brereton made his confession. As Anne's father, the man could never be expected to conceal evidence of a potential threat against the life of his child, something that Henry, as a father, could understand even though, as a father, he was devastated to learn the kind of behaviour that the daughter he had sired, loved and nurtured was capable of.

He almost wished that he didn't know, but if Mary's involvement had remained secret, then she would undoubtedly try again and again, until she succeeded. Anne, Elizabeth, the son still to be born, perhaps even Henry himself... none of them would be able to count themselves safe as long as Mary was out there, as long as she wanted to be Queen and was prepared to do whatever it took to secure the throne she felt she deserved.

She was ruthless, perhaps an inheritance from her grandfather, Henry the Seventh, and her maternal grandmother, Isabella of Castile, both of whom had fought to secure their countries.

"We can continue to question him," Cromwell suggested cautiously, "and find out the extent of…"

"No." Henry cut him off quickly. If they continued with Brereton's interrogation, the man would very likely reveal more about Mary's involvement than he would ever want to hear, information that couldn't possibly be ignored and that would put him in a position where he would have to choose between forcing Mary to stand trial for her crimes, for which the penalty would be death, or to be seen to condone those crimes by pardoning her for them. Neither was an option that he could consider. "We have his confession, and he has given us the names of his accomplices. We have all we need to convict him of his crime and…"

"If Your Majesty will forgive me," Brandon spoke up, guessing what his friend was thinking and wanting to give him a way out of having to order his daughter to stand trial, knowing that Henry couldn't voice a wish for that without losing face. "The Lady Mary is very popular with the people. I would worry that if she is brought to trial, or if she is implicated during Brereton's trial, it would anger the people. I am not saying that this should be ignored," he added quickly, seeing that both Boleyn and Cromwell were ready to balk at the suggestion than anybody, even the King's daughter, should be allowed to get away with an attempt on the Queen's life, a suggestion that Henry was likely to disagree with as it would all but guarantee that other attempts would be made – and there would be no guarantee that Anne would remain the sole target. "But if this matter can be dealt with without her guilt becoming public knowledge, I think that it would be for the best."

Henry nodded, inwardly combing over the possibilities. He needed to protect Anne and their children. He would never forgive himself if he ignored this evidence of Mary's guilt and gave her the opportunity to strike again. They might not be as lucky the next time. But surely Mary's death wasn't the only way in which she could be prevented from making another attempt to kill Anne. She could be sent away, to live quietly in the country, in the care and custody of somebody he could trust and under close guard, away from those who might act as her accomplices.

"The Lady Mary should be removed from Princess Elizabeth's household as soon as can be arranged." Boleyn said firmly. "It would put the Queen's mind at ease to know that her daughter is not at risk."

Cromwell nodded his agreement, knowing that the other man's words were sensible. "It would ensure that the Lady Mary will not be able to harm the Princess, should she learn that Brereton failed in his attempt to murder the Queen and wish to strike against Your Majesty's present heiress instead." He said in his usual calm, measured tones. Although he possessed enough of a sense of humour to be conscious of the fact that removal from Elizabeth's household was surely something that Mary prayed for and that, despite the fact that her removal would be a mark of her disgrace, she was likely to be glad of it, he knew better than to give that thought voice. "I would advise that her removal from Hatfield be considered a matter of urgency."

"I agree." Henry said. The question of where Mary was to be sent was one that he would have to give some thought to before he made any final decision about her fate but at least, thanks to Anne's hysterical insistence that Mary was involved and that she could not be trusted around Elizabeth – had she been able to sense the threat Mary represented to her? – he had already taken steps to ensure that his elder daughter would not have the opportunity to harm her little half-sister, should she prove to be wicked enough to be prepared to harm the toddler.

"What about Ambassador Chapuys?" Boleyn asked. "He too is implicated. Should he not be sent to the Tower and questioned about his involvement in the plot against the lives of the Queen and the unborn prince?"

"I believe that we should tread very carefully where the Imperial ambassador is concerned, my lord." Cromwell told him immediately. If he was disappointed to learn of Chapuys' involvement, an involvement that was almost certain to damage the chances of securing an alliance between the Emperor and England, an alliance he considered to be essential, his expression betrayed nothing of his feelings. "Regardless of the circumstances, the Emperor might be insulted to learn that his ambassador was a prisoner of Your Majesty's."

"Master Cromwell is correct." Boleyn allowed grudgingly. Although it would have suited his purposes to see Henry's relations with the Emperor cool, allowing him an opportunity to push for an alliance with King Francis instead, an alliance that was far more likely to benefit his family as King Francis was more likely to preserve warm relations with Anne than the Emperor could be expected to and far less likely to attempt to promote the Lady Mary' interests as he would not be obliged to do so out of family loyalty, he was shrewd enough to know that England could not afford an open conflict with Spain, and wars were fought over more trivial matters than this.

"Ambassador Chapuys will remain in his apartments, under guard, until I have sent a messenger to the Emperor informing him of the situation and received his reply." Henry decreed. "We should not arrest or question him without his master's consent." Even if the Emperor sent permission for his ambassador to be arrested, tried and executed for his crimes, as he was likely to since refusal would put their prospects for an alliance in grave jeopardy, Henry didn't intend to allow Mary's name to be mentioned during Chapuys' interrogation, would not allow him the opportunity to implicate her further, intentionally or unintentionally.

He could believe that it was Chapuys who had initially proposed the plan to recruit Brereton to poison Anne and that Mary, unhappy to be disinherited and obliged to serve little Elizabeth, and grieving for her mother, was taken in by his empty promises of restoration should they kill Anne and the baby boy she carried and agreed to a course of action that would, under ordinary circumstances, have gone against her conscience.

He didn't want to learn that he was wrong.

Once Mary was sent away from Hatfield, to live quietly in some remote place, where only people he trusted would be allowed to have any contact with her, she would be unable to do anything to hurt Anne again. Anne would be safe and he would be spared the pain of having to order the execution of his daughter.

He could not forget that he once loved Mary or ignore the fact that he loved her still.

"With Your Majesty's permission, I will draft a letter to the Emperor, explaining this matter." Cromwell volunteered. "And I will send instructions to Sir William that Brereton is not to be questioned any further about his activities." He added, referring to Sir William Kingston, the gentleman who was charged with the office of Constable of the Tower, responsible for guarding every prisoner in the Tower and ensuring that their care was adequate, and commensurate with their station.

Henry nodded his agreement, waving the bowing Cromwell out of the room to carry out his task.

It was likely that the Emperor would know what had happened to Anne, together with the fact that Chapuys had been confined to his quarters and that Mary was under suspicion, before the message ever reached him. Cromwell, like Wolsey before him, had amassed a network of spies in the courts of other monarchs and Henry wasn't naïve enough to assume that there was nobody in his court receiving a pension from King Francis, the Emperor or the pope, among others. If they were discovered, as Richard Pace, who preceded Cromwell as his secretary, was, then they would be punished but Henry knew that it would be impossible for him to root out every courtier who was in the employ of another. Furthermore, they could occasionally be useful if he needed to bring false information to the ears of one of his brother kings; Cromwell could arrange for the circulation of a rumour, which would come to be taken as fact as it circulated through the court.

Henry was almost glad that the Emperor would hear the sordid tale from somebody other than himself.

It was painful enough to have to admit to _himself_ that his daughter was capable of murder without having to admit as much to the Emperor but he had no choice. If the Emperor was not made aware of the fact that his cousin was involved in such a terrible crime, he would continue to press for her interests, perhaps even for her restoration and that was something that Henry would _never_ allow now, not when he knew what kind of a person his daughter had become.

"If the Queen is well enough to receive a visitor, Your Majesty, I would like to go to see her, with your permission."

"Of course." Henry muttered distractedly.

"You have not visited already?" Brandon asked in feigned surprise, unable to resist the urge to bait the other man. He may not have had any love for Anne, quite the reverse, but that didn't mean that he was not faintly disgusted by the way Boleyn all but ignored his children, unless he wanted something from them. Even when Anne was sick, her father visited her infrequently, far more eager to remain close to the King, enjoying his favour. A father himself, Brandon could not imagine behaving the same way towards Edward if his young son was unwell and wanted him to be there with him.

"My daughter has been very ill as a result of this brutal assault," Boleyn responded stiffly, outrage seeping into his tone, both at the thought of somebody daring to try to kill Anne, and at the other man's presumption in criticizing him. "It would be thoughtless and cruel of me to impose on her if she is not yet strong enough to have a visitor, to place _my_ desire to see her ahead of _her_ welfare."

"I'm sure that she'd like to see you," Henry cut in, "and she's well enough for a short visit, just be careful not to excite her – and don't mention the Lady Mary's involvement," he cautioned, "I don't want her to hear of it until the girl has been safely removed from Hatfield – and until Princess Elizabeth is brought to court." He added impulsively, thinking that it would reassure Anne if she could see for herself that their daughter was safe and well before the news of Mary's treachery was broken to her. "I don't want her to be upset unnecessarily."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Boleyn agreed obediently, bowing before he left the room.

Seeing from the expression on Brandon's face that the other man was longing to say something to him now that they were alone, Henry sighed. "What is it, Charles?"

"I was hoping… about the Lady Mary, Your Majesty," he began, knowing that he would have to tread very carefully as he spoke of the young girl, for fear of Henry thinking that he agreed with her actions but, at the same time, he felt that he had to speak for her. Few others would.

"What about her?" Henry's tone was gruff as he asked the question, the scowl on his face discouraging further discussion, but Brandon persevered.

"Your Majesty indicated that the Lady Mary is to be removed from Princess Elizabeth's household – a very sensible precaution, under the circumstances." He added hastily, "but it means that another place will have to be found for her to live and, with Your Majesty's permission, I would like to offer her a home with my family, in Suffolk. My wife, the Duchess, will be pleased to absent herself from the court to help keep watch over Lady Mary, and Your Majesty would have no reason to fear what she might do if she was to be left in our care." He suggested hopefully, wanting to do what little he could for Mary and to seize the opportunity to offer his house as a home for her.

Mary's exile was inevitable but that did not mean that it had to be uncomfortable.

If the decision waited until Anne was well enough to be told of her stepdaughter's involvement in the attempt on her life, then she would influence the decision of where Mary was to live from now on and she would undoubtedly choose the most remote, the most miserable residence at their disposal. Mary had never been robust and if a damp, dismal residence was chosen, it would put her health, or even her life at risk. With the right choice of residence, Anne wouldn't need to resort to poison or the like to remove Mary as a potential rival to her children. Nature would do the deed for her.

If Mary came to live in Brandon's home, he could at least be certain that she would be kindly treated and, even if he could not treat her as the princess she was by right, she would still be an honoured guest in his household, treated as befitted a King's daughter.

It was all he could do for her now but perhaps it would allow him to pay his debt to Queen Katherine, at least in part, for siding with Boleyn and Norfolk and helping them in their quest to bring down Wolsey and to raise Anne to the throne in Katherine's place and for not having the courage to speak for her, even after he broke with the Boleyns.

Henry considered the idea for a moment before shaking his head decisively. Charles was an honest man and a good friend, one who could be trusted to guard Mary properly, but he spent most of his time at court, away from his estates and he couldn't be sure that Brandon's servants, or even his wife could be trusted to be sufficiently vigilant to ensure that Mary had no opportunity to send messages or to escape so that she could flee to Spain and the Emperor, who might even try to wage a war against England to usurp the throne on Mary's behalf, setting her up as her cousin's puppet.

"No, Charles," he said firmly, softening his response with a slight smile. "I know that you mean well but the Lady Mary will need to be sent someplace more remote, to Fotheringay, maybe, or to the More." He mused aloud, naming two of the more isolated properties belonging to the Crown, the latter of which had once been home to Katherine, during the years when she insisted on defying him and clinging to a title to which she no longer had any right. "I will have to discuss the matter with Master Cromwell before making a final decision – when I do, I would like you to accompany the Lady Mary to her new home." He added, wanting his friend to know that he was trusted. "I can think of nobody better."

"As Your Majesty wishes." Brandon inclined his head slightly, privately glad to be the one charged with the task. Bringing Mary to her exile would be an unpleasant duty but it was better that it was a duty carried out by somebody who would treat her with respect and kindness, rather than somebody like Boleyn who would gloat over her misfortune.

He was privately appalled when he heard that the other man seized the opportunity, almost three years ago, to be the one to go to Ludlow Castle to break the news to the young girl that Archbishop Cranmer had annulled her parent's marriage while validating her father's marriage to Anne, making Mary illegitimate and robbing her of the titles that had been hers since birth, titles which were later bestowed on little Elizabeth.

It had not been enough for Boleyn to see his daughter raised to the highest place a woman could occupy in England, he had to sweeten her triumph and his by being the one to tell Anne's foes of their defeat and of his daughter's victory, along with the penalties that would be exacted if they failed to recognize her as Queen.

His wife, Catherine, one remarked, only half in jest, that Thomas Boleyn must have ice water flowing in his veins rather than human blood and he was inclined to agree with her.

Only an inhuman man would be able to break such devastating news to a young girl without suffering a qualm of conscience over what he was doing, without being moved by her distress at the news and prompted to deal gently with her, even if he was commanded to stand firm.

As long as Anne and, by extension, her father remained in power and in favour, only a very brave or very foolish soul would dare to risk their enmity by speaking out in Mary's favour, encouraging Henry to show his daughter clemency and to restore her to her former position, at least in part.

Brandon felt a lead weight in his heart as Henry indicated that he should leave him, knowing that he would not be one of those brave, foolish people who encouraged Mary's restoration. He would speak for her but only to a point, and he would never push Henry so far that he risked drawing his anger onto his own head.

He was a coward.

* * *

"I don't believe it!" Catherine, the Duchess of Suffolk, formerly Mistress Catherine Brooke, was horrified when she heard what her husband had to say. "Surely Princess Mary would never do something like that, even to that woman. Brereton must have been forced to name her!"

"I would agree with that if Boleyn was the only one there when he was being questioned; he and that bitch of a daughter of his would want to make sure that Mary was out of favour with the King, to strengthen Elizabeth's position, even if there is no son and accusing Mary would certainly do that, but Cromwell was there too, and he was the one recording Brereton's testimony. He wouldn't want to falsely accuse her, especially when he's hoping to secure an alliance with the Emperor. I didn't expect that Mary would do something like this but I'm not surprised; she hasn't been kindly treated these past years – and when a dog is treated badly enough, for long enough, even the best of them will bite." He added, remembering when Catherine responded to one of his complaints about the treatment he received at Anne's hands with a similar reminder.

"Do you agree with what she did?" Catherine asked shrewdly, voicing a question that she would never have dared to utter aloud, except in the privacy of their quarters, away from anybody who might overhear. Speaking against Anne was risky at the best of times, even for the King's closest friend and, in the wake of this attempt on her life, it was even more dangerous, as the speaker could find him or herself suspected of involvement.

"Do you?"

"No." She shook her head, her decisive tone prompting her husband, who knew perfectly well that her opinion of Anne was a low one, to raise an eyebrow in surprise. "Not while she is carrying an innocent child." She elaborated. "Whatever about that woman, her child does not deserve to be harmed. It has never done anything to hurt anybody"

"And yet the child poses a threat to Mary by its very existence." Brandon pointed out. "If it is a boy and born healthy, then Anne is safe and she will be Queen for life, which will mean that Mary can't hold out any hope that the King will ever invite her back to court."

"That still doesn't justify it." Catherine insisted. "If you wronged somebody, would they be justified in killing Edward in reprisal?"

"Of course not!"

"The same is true of Anne's baby. It shouldn't have to pay the price for what she did."

"I imagine that there will be many who share your opinions, my dear," Brandon observed quietly, struck by the passion in her tone.

If Catherine, who had never cared for Anne in the least and who encouraged him to be ready to seize any opportunity to bring her down, was siding with her against Mary because of the child she carried, there would likely be many people who shared her view, not just at court but throughout England, people who might not have been sorry if she only targeted Anne herself but who would be horrified by the thought that Mary was prepared to attempt to kill her while she was with child.

Even the common people, once Katherine and Mary's strongest supporters, were hoping for Anne to give them a prince in the summer and they would not look kindly on the girl if they heard that she had attempted to kill the unborn prince – and they would find out eventually, especially if Boleyn and his ilk had anything to say about it.

"Do you think that Mary should be condemned for what she has done?" He asked quietly.

Catherine hesitated before responding. "I don't know." She said at last. "I wouldn't like to see it happen, not if it can possibly be avoided. Princess Mary is a good girl," she said, a hint of a challenge in her tone as she used the forbidden title, even though her husband was the only witness to her defiance, "and I'm sure that she would never have dreamed of doing anything like this if it wasn't for everything she has had to endure these past years. She would need to have the patience of a saint to endure it without wanting to retaliate! After everything that woman has put her through, I couldn't blame her if she wanted to get rid of _Anne_."

"It's not as though the bitch wouldn't try to poison her, if she thought that she could get away with it." Brandon muttered sourly.

If Henry had only been prepared to listen to him years ago, when he first tried to warn him about Anne! So much suffering, for so many people would have been spared. Even if Henry insisted on proceeding with the annulment of his marriage to Katherine – and Brandon was honest enough to be able to admit to himself that his friend probably would have done that, even if he discarded Anne, since he was convinced that the union was accursed and determined to remarry so that he could give England an heir – he could have chosen a better, kinder woman might have made a good Queen.

Another woman might treat her husband's daughter with kindness and understanding, knowing that she had suffered enough through the loss of her royal status without being further humiliated by being forced to wait on the child who usurped her place, choosing instead to invite Mary to court and to treat her with respect, an example that would be followed by the rest of the court and to encourage Henry to restore her to as close to her former status as her illegitimacy allowed. Another woman would have pleaded for mercy for men like Fisher and More, understanding that they were good, honest men who meant her no harm and who would support her as far as their consciences permitted them, using her influence to persuade Henry to spare their lives instead of calling for their deaths in reprisal for their refusal to acknowledge her as Queen and her child as the legitimate heir, pressuring Henry even when he began to waver and was tempted to show mercy.

Of all the women in England, of all the women in Christendom, Henry had had to have Anne and to Brandon's mind, and many others, England was worse off for it.

Brandon's gaze fixed on his wife as he inwardly thanked God for leading him to make his ward his wife after Margaret's death. At the time, he was tempted both by her beauty and by the fortune she would bring to the marriage but she had given him something far more valuable than either: her love.

Theirs was a happy marriage and he was conscious of how fortunate he was that Catherine loved Edward as though he was her own child; he called her Mother, having dropped the 'step-' shortly after the marriage and she was devoted to him, never even grumbling when he climbed into their bed at night. Even if they had children of their own, he was certain that Catherine's love for Edward would not change and she would certainly never seek to promote her own son's interests at the expense of the son of his first wife.

Princess Mary should have a stepmother like Catherine.

Brandon firmly believed that if Anne had treated her kindly, Mary would never have wanted to kill her, even if it was for Anne's sake that Henry had repudiated Katherine and declared his daughter a bastard.

He didn't believe that Henry was a cruel man; he was quick to anger, especially when his pride was injured, as it had been when his once cherished daughter defied him so blatantly, but if the person who offended him was prepared to apologize for their offence and to make amends, he was capable of forgiveness, as Brandon knew all too well. Sending Mary to Hatfield to wait on little Elizabeth was meant as a punishment, a way of proving to her that regardless of how often she protested that she was the true Princess of England, she was now outranked by her much-younger sister, the heiress presumptive until such a time as a son was born and of putting her in her place. However, once his point was made, to Mary and to the rest of England, with the gesture, Henry would surely have been willing to end his daughter's humiliating situation and welcome her back to court… at least he would have if Anne had not been so implacably opposed to the idea.

If she had her way, Mary would never set foot in the royal court, would never be permitted to see or speak to her father until she gave in and acknowledged Anne as Henry's wife and as the true, rightful Queen of England.

The more he learned of the damage Anne was doing, the more Brandon wished that he could turn back time, stop himself agreeing to help Boleyn and Norfolk in exchange for their help in bringing him back to court and restoring him to Henry's favour. With hindsight, he was certain that Henry would eventually have yielded and invited him back; he would not stand on pride forever, not when it meant that he would be separated from both his close friend and his sister but even if refusing their deal meant that he would never be allowed back to court, that would have been better than that he assist in the quest to bring Anne Boleyn to the throne.

Margaret hated her.

Ever since the day she first met Anne, on their first evening at court together since their banishment after their return from Portugal, she hated her, unmoved by her brother's obvious adoration of the girl he drew forward to be presented to her, the girl he had chosen as his bride. For Brandon, a spectator to the meeting, it was almost comical; the future Queen of England being presented to the former Queen of Portugal, the stony eyed Tudor princess being introduced to the deceptively innocent looking viscount's daughter that her brother, the King, planned to place above her and above every other woman in England, his wife and daughter included.

Margaret loathed Anne and made no attempt to conceal her dislike, even when she could plainly see that Henry was irritated by this and that he clearly sided with Anne in the matter, even when her husband attempted to remonstrate with her, reminding her that it would do them no good if she set about making an enemy of Henry's beloved and that they would be better off holding their peace and leaving him to marry whoever he liked.

As far as Anne was concerned, Brandon had no idea how she felt about Margaret, whether she hoped that her future sister-in-law would eventually come to like her and was relying on her considerable, undeniable charm to win her over, whether she was secretly pleased to see Margaret set herself against her, confident that Henry would always take her part, even against his own sister and hoping that Margaret would either absent herself from the court or be banished again, leaving her as the unchallenged star of the court. Maybe she didn't care either way.

Brandon privately considered this to be the most likely option; Anne was accustomed to being disapproved of and, to do her justice, she bore it well in those days, better than many women in her position would have, brazening it out despite the fact that she could not fail to be aware of the things that were being said about her behind her back. She was secure in Henry's favour and that was all that really mattered to her. One more detractor wouldn't trouble her unduly, even if that detractor happened to be the King's sister.

A cynical man might have believed that Margaret's dislike of Anne stemmed from ambition for her own son; if Henry died without a son of his own then there would be some who believed that their Edward, as the King's nephew, would have a strong claim to the throne, a claim he would not have if the young woman her brother hoped to make his wife produced a son to come between Edward and the throne but Brandon knew better. Margaret didn't covet the throne on her own behalf, or her son's and, in any case, she knew Henry well enough that he would prefer that his own daughter succeed him rather than another man's son. Her hatred of Anne was motivated by a dislike of her character and her disdain for her proud, ambitious, grasping family, her father in particular.

In some ways, it was almost a mercy that she had not lived to see Anne crowned Queen of England, hadn't seen the lengths to which her brother was prepared to go to ensure that Anne's position, along with that of their daughter, was recognized, even when people had to die to secure those rights.

She would have hated to have to yield precedence to Anne and she would have been devastated to see the man Henry had become.

It was ironic that one of the few things that women as different as Brandon's two wives could have in common would be their mutual loathing of Anne Boleyn. When Catherine was first presented to the future Queen of England, shortly after they were married, she was far from impressed. Anne hadn't made any special effort to win her over, probably deeming Catherine to be too unimportant for her to trouble herself with, even if she was the Duchess of Suffolk, wife to the King's closest friend but even at her most charming, she would never have been able to pull the wool over Catherine's eyes.

Even if she was willing to acknowledge the annulment and Henry's remarriage, accepting that Anne was truly Queen, the treatment meted out to Katherine, whose namesake she was, and to Mary would have been enough to turn her against the other woman. Katherine died alone, in poverty and misery and, bastard or not, the humiliation Mary was enduring was cruel and unnecessary. She could never like or respect the woman responsible for their suffering.

"I asked for Mary to be allowed to come to live with us, at our manor." Brandon said quietly, shrugging ruefully when he saw the surprised expression on Catherine's face. "She can't stay at Hatfield with Princess Elizabeth, not after this, and Henry won't receive her at court. He has decided to send her away to the country."

"Into exile?"

"I don't see how it can be called anything else. I suggested that he should allow her to come to us, as our guest, and that we would be able to make sure that she was kept safe, unable to try anything like this again." He smiled slightly. "Edward would probably have appreciated the company."

"What did he say?" Although she was aware that, if Mary came to live on their estate, she would be required to leave court and take up permanent residence there, to provide the young girl with the supervision of a noble matron, at least nominally, Catherine had no objection to this. In fact, it would be quite a relief to be able to leave the court and to return to the country, where she could live peacefully, preferably accompanied by her husband.

"He refused." Brandon stated flatly. "He won't consider it. He has somewhere more remote in mind – and God help Mary if he decides to let Anne make the choice. It's safe to say that we can rely on her to pick the worst place in England!"

"What will happen to her?" Catherine asked, concerned. "Do you think that exile will be the worst of it? The King won't… he won't take the matter any further, will he?"

"I hope not." Brandon's voice was grave. "I hope not."

* * *

The apartments provided for the Imperial ambassador on his trips to England could vary, depending on whether the King was seeking an alliance with the Emperor and wanted to honour his ambassador and make his stay as comfortable and pleasant as possible or whether the King was angry over some slight, real or imagined, and wished to make his displeasure known by lodging the ambassador in poorer accommodations.

During the years in which the King struggled to obtain an annulment of his marriage to Queen Katherine, years in which the Emperor thwarted him at every turn, using almost every means at his disposal to prevent his aunt being humiliated in such a fashion, Chapuys was often lodged in small chambers, furnished as plainly as the King dared, dark, poky rooms that were often cold and damp but he bore the discomfort without a murmur of complaint, knowing that it would give the King great satisfaction to know that his childish insults were having their intended effect.

Chapuys would have endured far worse if it meant that he could help Queen Katherine.

As the King was now entertaining the idea of an alliance with the Emperor, the suite Chapuys was provided with was a large one, richly furnished and hung with fine tapestries, with a wide stone fireplace which had a blazing fire burning in the grate. However, he would gladly have traded it for the smallest, most dismal chamber in the palace if that chamber would be one from which he could come and go as he pleased.

Something had gone wrong.

He didn't need anybody to explain it to him.

As soon as the Duke of Norfolk approached him in the hall, telling him that it was the King's express wish that he return to his chambers, there to await His Majesty's pleasure, he knew that something had gone wrong and that Brereton had been caught.

Brereton had been caught and, as Chapuys predicted over two years ago, the man had broken under torture and confessed everything, including the involvement of the Imperial ambassador.

Pray God he had maintained enough control to keep him from implicating the Emperor or, worst of all, the pope as well.

Nobody had said a word about the harlot.

He could only pray that it had not all been for nothing, that Brereton had been able to destroy her.

He would happily accept whatever punishment the King decreed for his involvement, even if that punishment was to be death, if Princess Mary's position and rights were secured by the deed.

He was under no illusions over the fact that he would have to pay the price for what he had done, knew that even his status as ambassador would not protect him; under other circumstances, the Emperor might have insisted that he be sent back to Spain immediately, so that he might deal with him as he saw fit, instead of allowing another King to be the one to determine the fate of his servant but, as it was, the Emperor was not going to challenge King Henry, not over this, even though he would undoubtedly be delighted to learn that the harlot was dead and that there was no longer any need for him to dishonour his aunt's memory by acknowledging her hated rival as the Queen of England.

He needed King Henry's friendship and, above all else, he could not take the chance that England would ally with France against him. As soon as he heard the news, King Francis would undoubtedly extend extravagant condolences, commiserating with his 'brother king' over the loss of his wife and broadly hinting that the Emperor was responsible for her death. The Emperor would not be able to show himself to be any less horrified over what had happened and, as his own ambassador was implicated, he would have to be especially careful. He would therefore give King Henry his full permission and blessing to deal with Chapuys as he saw fit, and pray that this was enough to convince him that he was not involved in Anne's death, and that he disapproved of her being killed.

He would do this despite Chapuys' long years of loyal service, and Chapuys did not resent that. The Emperor had his own domains to govern and, since he was already in conflict with France, he could not afford to risk provoking a conflict with England.

No matter what happened to him, it would be a small price to pay.

Once escorted to his chambers, four guards stationed themselves outside the door and the Duke of Norfolk remained in the room with him, as though he feared that Chapuys might still find a way of sending a message, despite the fact that he was not allowed to leave his quarters and nobody except Norfolk was allowed to enter it.

While there were several courtiers within the palace in the Emperor's employ, people he could give a letter to in the hopes that they were honest enough to pass it to its intended recipient rather than trying to cultivate favour with the King or with Anne's family and earning a reward by handing it on to one of them, Chapuys knew that even if he was able to get a message to the Emperor, it would do him little good.

Nobody was going to intercede on his behalf.

He was on his own.

Norfolk's expression betrayed no emotions. His demeanour was placid as he lifted the jug of wine left on the table, filling two goblets and passing the first to Chapuys before sitting down in a chair by the fire and sipping from the second, his eyes cold as he regarded the other man, sitting in silence for what seemed like a very long time before he finally spoke.

"You have not asked after Her Majesty, Queen Anne." He observed in a dry, faintly mocking tone. "Are you not concerned for her health?"

Chapuys held his tongue, not wanting to make matters worse for himself or for anybody else by giving Norfolk any more information than he already had.

Norfolk waited a few minutes and then, seeing that Chapuys clearly had no intention of playing along, he continued. "I am certain that you will be pleased to know that she is well." Chapuys eyes flew open, his dismay written all over his face. "And the King tells me that the child's life has also been spared, God be thanked." He continued, taking a malicious delight in the other man's distress. "You are grateful for that, I'm sure." He baited. To his disappointment, Chapuys did not respond. After watching him for another moment, he settled back in his chair, goblet of wine in hand, to wait until somebody was sent to relieve him of his duties as custodian.

Chapuys slowly sank into the chair opposite him, his skin almost ashen as he stared into the fire, unable to believe what he was hearing.

It had all been for nothing.


	9. Chapter Eight

**_6th April 1536_ **

They made an odd pair as they rode to Hatfield together, comfortably ensconced in the large carriage provided for their journey from Whitehall to Hatfield, each charged with his own mission, one pleasant and one decidedly unpleasant.

Thomas Boleyn was in excellent spirits, especially as a brief visit to his youngest daughter before his departure confirmed that the child she carried was still alive and kicking as strongly as ever. Now he was to bring his granddaughter, the little Princess Elizabeth, back to court with him, so that she could be presented to King Francis' envoys before her marriage to the Duke of Angouleme was arranged. With one grandchild about to be betrothed to a French prince and another on the way, hopefully a boy who would one day be King of England, life was good for him. His joy was sweetened by the fact that his companion was clearly as unhappy with his task as Boleyn was pleased with the one he was assigned.

Although Brandon was relieved that Henry was still willing to allow him to undertake the task of accompanying Mary from Hatfield to her new home, he was dismayed to learn that he was expected to travel with Boleyn, who was charged with fetching little Elizabeth and bringing her to her parents at Whitehall, to stay there until the prince was born. If the weather was more pleasant, he would gladly have ridden to Hatfield on horseback and allowed Boleyn to enjoy the comforts of the carriage by himself but it was raining too heavily to allow that, so he was obliged to sit opposite the other man, doing his best to tune out his acidic comments about the wickedness of the 'King's bastard' and how fortunate she was that she was not his daughter, as he would never have dreamed of allowing her to get away with her crimes, daughter or not.

"Anne has been too soft with the young bastard by far, and she came very close to paying the price for her lenience." He opined in a half-sombre, half-smug tone, smirking slightly when he saw Brandon bristle at his characterization of Mary, knowing that the other man couldn't dare to argue over the term, as the King would undoubtedly take umbrage if he knew that his close friend objected to the decision he had made regarding his daughter's legitimacy and status. "When she told me that she planned to invite the Lady Mary to return to court and to help to reconcile her with His Majesty, if she would only swallow her pride and admit that she was wrong in her belief that the King's marriage to the Princess Dowager was ever valid, I warned her that the girl would prove to be as intractable as her mother, an obstinate and undutiful child, completely unwilling to yield. I was right."

Brandon ignored him as best he could, trying to control his temper and keep from being provoked by the spiteful words, knowing that Boleyn would love nothing more than to know that his comments were having the desired effect. Nevertheless, he couldn't keep from making a tart remark of his own.

"There are many who would consider it better to be the illegitimate daughter of the King than the legitimate daughter of another man – a mere earl, for example." He suggested in a deliberately bland tone, knowing that Boleyn deeply resented the fact that, as a duke, Brandon outranked him, along with every other peer in England aside from the Duke of Norfolk and that he couldn't argue the point, for fear of the King hearing of it and being insulted by a perceived slight to his royal blood. However, if he thought that the remark would be enough to silence Boleyn, at least for the remainder of their journey, he was sadly mistaken.

"I hope that the Lady Mary will be grateful for the mercy she is being shown – mercy that speaks of His Majesty's kindness and charity, rather than of what she justly deserves." He commented sourly. Although he was clever enough to understand that if Mary was to be put on trial and executed for her crimes, there was a very real risk that the feelings of the people would be stirred in her favour and against Anne rather than the reverse, he resented the fact that somebody who had attempted to kill his daughter, along with the child she carried, the boy who would ensure his grandfather's position and power, would not pay the full price for her actions. "If I was her father, she would be in the Tower now."

"I believe that." Brandon said grimly, disgusted. It wouldn't surprise him if Boleyn was prepared to abandon one of his children if it suited him to do so.

Whatever else Boleyn might have said in response to that was lost as their carriage came to a slow stop outside Hatfield, the men riding as their escort dismounting, looking soaked through, and one of them hurrying to open the door to the carriage.

With sealed letters from the King clutched in one hand, Boleyn strode forward, a small, approving smile on his face as he surveyed his granddaughter's establishment, nodding at the company who came out to greet them and striding past them into the main hall, where Lady Bryan awaited them, along with several of the ladies who tended to Elizabeth's needs.

The Lady Mary was not present.

"Lady Bryan." Boleyn greeted the governess cordially enough, inclining his head slightly in response to the curtsey she swept him as he approached. "I trust that the messenger the King sent has reached you?"

"Yes, my lord." She assured him, plainly curious, anxious to know what was going on but knowing better than to ask the question. "I ordered that the Lady Mary's things be packed, and she hasn't been permitted to leave her room since the King sent word that she was to be kept confined until further notice."

"Excellent." Boleyn nodded his approval.

"Could you ask the Lady Mary to come here?" Brandon spoke up, unwilling to let the other man handle everything. The Lady Mary was his responsibility, at least until he could hand her into the care of her new guardians, and he had no intention of allowing Boleyn to vent his spite on her, not if he could help it. "And have her belongings brought outside and packed on top of the carriage."

"The _plain_ one." Boleyn stressed unnecessarily, despite the fact that he was well aware of the fact that none of the servants at Hatfield would ever make the mistake of thinking otherwise. "The royal carriage is, naturally, intended for Princess Elizabeth's use; the King has ordered that she is to come to court. Perhaps you would be kind enough to ask somebody to escort the princess down," he suggested, "so that she can say her goodbyes to the Lady Mary."

"Yes, my lord." Lady Bryan dipped a second, shallower curtsey, dispatching two of the ladies to bring the King's two daughters down.

Elizabeth was the first to be brought down. Although she was still slightly sleepy from her afternoon nap, she brightened when she saw that she had visitors, pulling her hand out of the grasp of the lady acting as her escort and running ahead of her, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement at the novelty.

Mary followed close behind, flanked by another lady, her expression sullen and wary as she regarded the two visitors, watching with ill-concealed resentment as Boleyn and Brandon bowed low in front of little Elizabeth, each kissing the chubby hand presented to them in turn.

With the formalities safely dispensed with, Elizabeth ran towards her grandfather, giggling happily as he swept her up into his arms and swung her around for a moment, kissing her cheek.

"Grandpapa! Grandpapa!" She wrapped her small arms around her neck, hugging him quickly before he set her back down. "Did you come to see me?" She asked eagerly; although she would much rather have her Mama or her Papa come to see her, Grandpapa was a good visitor too, and he usually brought her a present!

"I have, Your Highness," he said, smiling as he knelt down to her level, "and I have a surprise for you."

"Is it my baby brother?" It seemed to Elizabeth that she had been praying for him for a long time but so far, there was no sign of him. If it had been anybody but Mama who told her that she was to have a brother soon, she would have thought that they were telling fibs when no brother appeared, even after her long wait.

"Not yet – it will be a long time, around two months, before he is big and strong enough to come into the world," Boleyn explained, glancing up to meet Mary's eyes, giving the older girl a sour look. "But he is healthy and your Mama's physician thinks that he will be a very strong prince when he arrives."

"That's good." Elizabeth said decisively; if her baby brother was strong, then he would be a good person to play with, not like Lady Bryan, who didn't like to run around or play loud games because they gave her a headache.

"We pray every day that the Queen will bear a strong, healthy prince." Lady Bryan interjected.

"Sometimes twice." Elizabeth added sagely, holding up two chubby fingers for emphasis.

"That's wonderful!" Boleyn smiled indulgently at his granddaughter, patting her cheek before looking at Lady Bryan. "I am certain that Her Majesty will be pleased to know that you are thinking of her, and that she will be grateful for your prayers. And what of you, Lady Mary?" He asked, faintly amused by the obvious dislike on the girl's face as she looked at him. "Do you also pray for the birth of a healthy prince?"

Mary's only response was a scornful look. When she rejected Lady Bryan's invitations to join Elizabeth and the rest of the household for morning prayers, an invitation that was issued every day, even though the governess knew better than to think that it would ever be accepted, the ladies who waited on Elizabeth would look on her with disapproval for her refusal to join them in praying for Anne's safe delivery and the birth of a healthy prince, a prayer that was being echoed all over England. It seemed as though they truly couldn't see that it was far too much to expect of her, their demeanour suggesting that there was something wrong with her for refusing to pray for the birth of her future rival.

"Lady Mary doesn't pray with us." Elizabeth informed him. "She prays in her room – and she uses funny words when she says her prayers." She added, her small nose wrinkling slightly at the thought, before she turned to a much more important issue. "Did Mama send me a present?" When she last went to visit her Mama, she was very sad when she had to leave but the new doll Mama gave her as a farewell gift managed to reconcile her to the idea of returning to Hatfield. Mama promised that she would have her very own dressmakers make a new gown for Elizabeth's doll, a fine silk one.

"No, my dearest, but I have even better news for you. Your Mama and your Papa want you to come to court for a visit, a long one, and for you to meet some very important people." Lady Bryan looked slightly dismayed by the news that their visit was to be a lengthy one; packing her little charge's belongings for an extended trip would be no small task, but she was mollified somewhat when he addressed her. "You need only pack what is necessary for a few days, Lady Bryan. More of Princess Elizabeth's belongings can be sent on after her – and I am sure that Her Majesty will want to have many new gowns made for you." He told the toddler with an indulgent smile.

In the aftermath of the poisoning, Anne was so unwell that her plans for the monasteries given into her charge had had to be set aside until she was feeling stronger and Boleyn fervently hoped that she would lose interest in them, choosing instead to focus her attention and energies on her daughter's new gowns, a far more suitable pastime for her, in his opinion.

Elizabeth beamed at this; she loved to wear pretty gowns and the ones her Mama had made for her were the most beautiful of all her gowns. There was one more matter that she was curious about, however.

"Is Lady Mary coming to court?" She asked, surprised. Mary never went to court, even when Elizabeth's Mama or Papa summoned her for a visit. Most of Elizabeth's other ladies travelled with her when she went to court so that they could take care of her but Mary always had to stay behind, though nobody ever explained why. She would have thought that Papa would want Mary to come and visit him.

Mary was Elizabeth's sister but she wasn't her real sister, not the way her baby brother would be her real brother. Mary had the same Papa as Elizabeth but she had a different Mama and because her Mama was not the Queen, Mary was only a Lady instead of being a Princess like Elizabeth.

It was all very strange and even Lady Bryan wouldn't explain. All she ever said was that when Elizabeth was older and a very big girl, she would understand.

"The Lady Mary is not permitted to come to court. Their Majesties do not wish for her to be allowed to visit them." Boleyn explained, keeping his tone light as he addressed his granddaughter. "In fact," he glanced up at Mary for a heartbeat before returning his attention to Elizabeth, "You should say goodbye to her now because she will not be here, at Hatfield, when you return. She will be going away to live somewhere else."

"Why?" Mary blurted the question immediately. While she hated the indignity of being forced to serve her little sister, knowing that it was intended as a constant reminder of her supposed bastard status and while she hated her father's Concubine for insisting on humiliating her like this and her father for yielding to that woman's whims, Hatfield was familiar to her at least and, on occasion, when she was playing with Elizabeth, she could sometimes be so charmed by her sister's antics that she forgot that she was the daughter of Anne Boleyn, that she was the child who had usurped her father's affections and her rightful position and see her as an innocent, happy little girl, knowing that her mother would never want her to resent Elizabeth, regardless of who her parents were and what they had done, and that she would want her to acknowledge the toddler as her sister.

Over the past years, change had rarely been a good thing for her or for her mother and she was wary of it now.

"It is the King's order, my lady." Brandon spoke up and, for the first time since she came down to greet them, she noticed that he looked decidedly uncomfortable. "He wishes for you to leave Hatfield, and the Princess' household at once and he has instructed me to escort you to your new home." Per Henry's orders, he didn't elaborate any further and he could see from the expression on Mary's face that she was bewildered by this, wondering if it was a good thing that she was no longer obliged to serve Elizabeth any longer or if she should prepare herself for worse than she had already endured.

"If it is my father's command, then I will obey him." She said quietly, her dignity absolute. Even in her sober black gown, Brandon thought that she looked every inch a princess.

"Bah!" Boleyn snorted his disgust and, although he didn't say anything else, everybody present, with the exception of little Elizabeth, knew that he was thinking of Mary's staunch refusal to take the Oath of Succession, as all English subjects were bound to.

Elizabeth ran towards Mary, wrapping her small arms around her waist and hugging her quickly, crooking a finger to indicate that Mary should bend down to allow her to plant a noisy kiss on her cheek. "Goodbye." She said cheerfully, confidently expecting that her half-sister would come to Hatfield soon, for a visit.

Mary smiled, hugging Elizabeth in return. "Goodbye."

"Come along, Your Highness." Boleyn extended a hand to take Elizabeth's, ready to lead her away. "We must get you ready for your journey. The King and Queen will be very anxious to see you."

Elizabeth accompanied him cheerfully enough and, as they left the hall to return to the rooms that comprised the little girl's nurseries, Mary could hear Elizabeth prattling happily about which gowns and toys she wanted to bring with her to court, with her grandfather and Lady Bryan promising that she could bring whatever she liked.

"My lady?" Brandon said quietly, making a shallow bow in her direction. "We should go. We have a long journey to make and it would be best if we could be there before nightfall."

Henry's orders were explicit on that score; under no circumstances did he want the journey to be delayed, stretching into two days' travelling instead of one. He didn't want to take any chances regarding the arrangements made for Mary's custody and he would not react kindly if he heard that they were obliged to break off the journey and spend the night in an inn, from which Mary might easily escape, regardless of how vigilant Brandon was.

"I see." Mary responded coolly. "Are you permitted to tell me where we are going?" Brandon didn't say anything but the uncomfortable expression on his face was all the answer she needed and, taking pity on him, she gave him a small smile. "Never mind." She said kindly. "If it is my father's order, then I will not ask you to disobey him." She looked around her, surveying the room with a dispassionate eye. Except for little Elizabeth, there would be nothing about Hatfield that she would miss. "I am ready to go."

* * *

Brandon didn't know what had possessed Henry to choose this residence. Of all places in England, it was surely the worst, not because it was in poor repair or because it was situated in a damp, unhealthy area but because of the memories associated with it.

He would have liked to be able to persuade himself that the choice was Anne's and that Henry had only yielded to avoid upsetting her and causing a setback in her recovery that would put their unborn child at risk but, much as he wished to absolve his friend of responsibility for the cruel choice, he knew that that was simply not the case. According to the physician, neither Anne nor the baby seemed to have taken any permanent harm from the poison but she was still unwell, her strength sapped by her ordeal and Henry insisted that she should not be told of Mary's involvement until she was better, so she couldn't have known that Mary was to be moved, much less chosen her new residence.

Henry was the one who made the choice, the one who decided that, of all the possible residences at his disposal – and he certainly had no shortage of properties at his disposal, especially since he and Cromwell began to seize the assets of the religious houses – the More should become his daughter's new home.

The rain cleared up shortly after they set out from Hatfield, allowing Brandon to abandon the carriage, a plainer one by far than the royal carriage in which little Elizabeth was making her journey to Whitehall, in favour of riding on horseback with the rest of the escort charged with seeing the young girl safely to her new home. He was aware that it was cowardice on his part to want to avoid speaking to Mary but if he had been travelling in the carriage with her, he wouldn't have known what to say to her.

He couldn't express his sympathy at her removal from Hatfield, or tender an apology for the fact that he was bringing her to the manor in which her mother had spent her last years, in miserable isolation. Henry had decreed that his daughter was to be moved to the More. Brandon was bound by duty and honour to carry out his orders, however much he might object to them inwardly, and he could not presume to criticize the actions of his friend and sovereign, or to imply that they were in any way unjustified.

At Henry's command, he also could not ask the questions he was longing to ask; why Mary had chosen this time to involve herself in an attempt on her stepmother's life, why she hadn't waited until Anne was delivered of her child so that the innocent baby would not pay the price for what its mother had done, whether Chapuys had pressured her into lending her approval to the plot against Anne or whether she had taken part of her own accord.

Henry was afraid that if anybody spoke to Mary about the poisoning, his daughter would incriminate herself further, perhaps even before witnesses and if she did, he might be left with no choice but to order her arrest and trial.

When Mary ventured to ask why she was being moved from Hatfield and released from her position as a maid in waiting, after two and a half years spent serving Elizabeth, Brandon was not able to say a word.

Her surprise seemed genuine enough but, after so many years of isolation, humiliation and injury, she had learned to dissemble, knowing that her best safety lay in being able to conceal her feelings from the people around her, never allowing anybody to guess what she was thinking or feeling, a sad trait in a girl of her years but an inevitable one in a girl in her situation.

They made good time on their journey, the escort riders ensuring that the road ahead of the was always kept clear of any peasant wagons or carts that might have been travelling and, much to Brandon's relief, they weren't obliged to break off their journey overnight and arrived at their destination just after sunset, the sky dark as they dismounted.

Brandon hurried to the door of the carriage, offering his hand to help Mary alight. He could see the dismay on her face as she surveyed the building. It was not a ruin, by any means, and had been kept in reasonably good repair but even in the dim, late evening light, it was obvious that the place had not been cared for as well as it ought to have been. Several of the windows were cracked, allowing the wind to seep through and the timber frames were rotting in places. The grounds were overgrown, almost wild, showing the effects of months, perhaps years without the touch of a gardener to tame them.

"What is this place?" Mary asked quietly, her keen eyes taking in her surroundings.

"It is the More, my lady." Brandon answered reluctantly.

"The More." She repeated the name as though in a daze, recognizing it. How could she not? When her mother was alive, Chapuys, on the rare occasions when he was permitted to visit her, conveyed news to her about the place in which she was housed, his indignation at the idea of a Princess of Spain – and nobody could deny her that title, even if the King insisted that the marriage had never been valid and that she had no claim to the title of Queen of England – being lodged in such a place and left so poorly attended plain but Mary would have happily joined her mother there, trading the relative grandeur of Hatfield for the More if it meant that they could be together. Her pleas to be allowed to visit were always refused.

Now, months after her mother's death, she was finally here, on her father's orders, told that from now on this place, the place where her mother had been so unhappy, was to be her new home.

How could her father be so cruel?

"This way, my lady." Brandon prodded gently, offering her his arm to lead her into the house, where about a dozen people were waiting to greet her.

Most of them were dressed in the plain garments of servants and hung back as Brandon and Mary approached but two of them, a man and a woman whose rich dress set them apart from the others, stepped forward, their bow and curtsey carefully directed at Brandon rather than at Mary.

"Your Grace, Lady Mary." The man said, inclining his head respectfully in Mary's direction. "I am Sir William Forester. I have the honour to be your chamberlain, my lady. This is my wife, Lady Margaret."

"My lady." Lady Margaret greeted her politely.

Neither of the Foresters looked unkind but there was no trace of sympathy in their expressions either. Mary knew that she would have to have somebody to act as her chamberlain, somebody who could run her small household on her behalf and whose wife could provide her with the nominal supervision of a lady of rank, just as she knew that the Foresters would undoubtedly have been selected for their task because of their proven loyalty to her father and to Anne. They might not necessarily be her enemies but it would be foolish of her to assume that they were her friends.

She wrinkled her nose slightly as she looked around, smelling the stale air and breathing in the dust circulating around him. The rushes crushed under the heel of her slipper were dirty, as though they hadn't been changed since the day her mother died, if not before. Perhaps the whole house had not been cleaned since then.

Brandon seemed to notice the squalor when she did and his mouth tightened in disapproval. "Why was this house not properly prepared for the Lady Mary's arrival, Sir William?" He demanded sharply. Even if Mary had to live in this place, there was no reason for the house to be so poorly kept. It wasn't fit for a King's daughter, legitimate or not.

"I apologize, Your Grace – and to you, Lady Mary." Sir William said. "We arrived this morning, and we have not yet had a chance to arrange for the house to be properly cleaned. Lady Mary's chambers are prepared for her, however," he added hurriedly. "They were the first rooms to be made ready. I hope that you will find them adequate, my lady, and I promise you that tomorrow morning, we will begin to put the house in order."

Although he was fairly certain that Sir William's promises were genuine, Brandon still resolved to stay a day or two, to make sure that the task of cleaning the house was in hand and that Mary was to be adequately attended before he left to return to the court to report to Henry that his daughter was settled in her new home.

Allowing Sir William and Lady Margaret to precede them, Mary and Brandon went upstairs to see the quarters that were to be hers. One of the servants, a young woman in a black gown and white cap, followed at a discreet distance.

The rooms were not what Mary had been accustomed to during her privileged, petted childhood as a princess but her new quarters were fairly large, consisting of a bedchamber, with a water closet attached to it, and a larger outer chamber with a wide fireplace and long windows to let in the sunshine. The rooms were well furnished and, as Sir William promised, they were clean, with fresh rushes spread on the floor and logs of wood laid in the hearth, ready to be lit should the night be cold enough for Mary to require a fire.

A narrow pallet was set up next to the high, carved bed in the bedchamber.

"This is where your maid will sleep, Lady Mary." Lady Margaret explained, seeing that the young girl's eyes were drawn to the pallet. She motioned for the servant to step forward. "This is Susan. She will attend you."

"It will be my honour, my lady." Susan said politely, dropping a slightly clumsy curtsey, clearly over-awed by the prospect of serving the King's daughter.

Seeing that Mary was looking rather pale and shocked, Brandon unceremoniously hustled the Foresters out of the room, 'suggesting' that they make arrangements for her belongings to be sent up and unpacked, while dismissing Susan to bring them food and wine. After spending so long travelling, he was hungry and he was sure that Mary was too.

Once they were alone, the silence between them stretched uncomfortably before Mary finally broke it.

"My mother… when she was here… this wasn't…" Her voice was soft and she couldn't bring herself to finish voicing her tentative question.

"No," Brandon responded at one, knowing what she meant and hastening to reassure her. "Your mother slept elsewhere." _And in less comfortable rooms,_ he added silently, remembering the Spartan accommodations supplied to the woman who had held the title of Queen of England for many years before she was banished from the court, for so long that many of the younger members of the court could remember no other Queen.

He may not have been the one to tell her that she was to leave – that task was left to Master Cromwell – but he would be sent on other visits to her, each time commanded to pressure her to surrender or to take something else from her so that it could be given to her rival.

If the rumours were true, the final straw for Henry was an outburst of Anne's, over his shirts, of all things, the incident that pushed him to end the bizarre, uncomfortable situation he had lived with for years while he awaited the outcome of his case, not wanting to risk prejudicing the verdict by separating from Katherine before he had papal confirmation that she was no longer his wife. The issue might have been a trivial one but it was enough to convince Henry that he could no longer expect his wife and his mistress to live at the same court.

He chose Anne, riding away with her without warning and without any intention of returning to Whitehall until Katherine had left.

The next time he contacted Katherine, it was through Cromwell and later Thomas Wyatt, who were ordered to go to her and make her relinquish her royal jewels, as Henry wanted to be able to give them to Anne for their trip to France.

After the wedding, it was Brandon's turn to be called upon to act as a go-between, charged with the unpleasant task of informing her of Henry's marriage to Anne.

_Elizabeth Darrell was one of the few people still in Katherine's service, and the only lady-in-waiting attending her. Although Katherine was assured when she was banished from the court that she could bring her household with her, many of those who had once taken such pride in their positions began to drift away from her. Some of them left voluntarily, seeking to ally themselves to Anne, the rising star of the court rather than attaching themselves to an abandoned Queen, who was no longer in a position to help them find advantageous marriages or to provide them with dowries. Others were withdrawn from her service by their families, who feared that their own loyalties might be suspect if their daughters or sisters remained with her._

_Mistress Darrell greeted him politely, if a trifle coolly before conducting him into the outer room of the chamber assigned to Katherine, a dark, plain room. "My lady, the Duke of Suffolk."_

_"Your Grace." She extended her hand for him to kiss._

_"My lady." He felt uncomfortable, wishing that somebody else had been charged with this task but he had no choice but to carry out his mission. His duty to Henry outweighed everything. "His Majesty has ordered me here; he's asked me to... he warns you not to try to return to him... since he has now married Lady Anne." He could see from the expression on her face that this came as a shock to her, that she couldn't believe that Henry would dare to defy the pope by marrying while his case was still being decided in Rome but she said nothing and Brandon soldiered on with his message. "From henceforth, you are to abstain from using the title of Queen. You will now be referred to as the Princess Dowager of Wales. You must also cut your household expenses." He found that he was unable to continue looking at her as he spoke and he turned for a moment, looking out the window. "In his generosity, the King allows you to keep your property but will no longer pay your servants' wages or your household expenses."_

_The last part was one that Brandon found difficult to stomach; Henry had a fortune at his disposal, left to him by his prudent and careful father and as they spoke, he was probably lavishing Anne with jewels and spending hundreds, if not thousands of pounds on her new gowns and the spectacular coronation he had planned for her would be a hugely expensive venture. There was no reason for him to be stingy when it came to Katherine's household expenses._

_Katherine's chief concern, as always, was for Mary. "And what of my daughter? What of Mary? May I see her..."_

_"Madam," he cut her off, doing his best to steel himself against her pleas but unable to do so. He turned back to meet her eyes, hoping that she knew that only Henry's command could have induced him to deliver such painful tidings to her. "Forgive me."_

_Katherine was silent for a few moments before she spoke again. "Do you know something, Mr Brandon? If I had to choose between extreme happiness and extreme sorrow, I would always choose sorrow."_

_This surprised him and, for a fleeting moment, he wondered if she was aware of the motto that Anne had chosen for herself: The Most Happy._

_"For when you are happy, you forget, you forget about spiritual things, you forget about God. But in your sorrow, He is always with you."_

_Had Anne been present at that moment, Brandon could cheerfully have strangled her for what she had done to the gentle, dignified lady sitting before him, and to Hell with the consequences!_

_Instead, all he could do was say, "May the Lord bless and keep you, my lady," before he hurried away._

That Mary was her father's daughter was undeniable; her resemblance to him was striking, and she certainly shared his stubbornness and pride but she was also Katherine's and, looking at her now, seeing her iron determination not to shed a tear, her refusal to plead for mercy or to pretend that she regretted taking action against Anne, even if that pretence might buy her some mercy from her father, Brandon wondered which of her parents she inherited her steel from.

She was no longer the sweet, innocent little girl that Henry once doted on, her experiences over the past few years had seen to that, hardening her character and making her mistrustful of others.

It occurred to him that Henry need not have worried so much about not leaving a male heir behind; Mary had proven that, should the need arise, she was prepared to act as decisively and as ruthlessly as any man.

She could have ruled England.

* * *

**_11th April 1536_ **

Cromwell's letter was not brief – such things could not be summarized in a few sentences, even by the best secretary – but he did not mince words or spend much time on frivolities, he merely set out the facts of the case, without exaggerating and without omitting details for fear of causing offence, mentioning King Henry's anger at the attack on his "most dearly beloved Queen Anne" but without dwelling on it and respectfully requesting a reply at the Emperor's earliest convenience, so that he would know how best to proceed.

Charles, Holy Roman Emperor, King of Aragon, Valencia, Naples and Sicily, Duke of the Burgundian Territories, Archduke of Austria had known since his boyhood that he would one day be among the most powerful men in Europe, if not the most powerful and, from the age of twenty, he had presided over vast lands, governing millions of people but he was under no illusions about the extent of his own power, or the fact that he would need the friendship of other rulers.

Individually, the Kings of England and France posed little threat to him but should they ally against him, they could prove to be formidable foes, especially if they enlisted the rulers of the German Protestant states.

After the death of his aunt, he had not liked the idea of reaching out the hand of friendship to the husband who repudiated her, especially since he knew that any alliance would be conditional on his acceptance of the King's mistress, Anne Boleyn, as his lawful wife and Queen and their children as legitimate but family pride and the need to defend his aunt's honour had had to take second place to practical considerations. While he and King Francis were in conflict over Milan, the last thing he needed was for Francis, who had no personal stake in King Henry's Great Matter and who was reputed to be rather warmly disposed towards Anne Boleyn, whose older sister had once been his mistress, to be the first to seek King Henry's friendship and secure an alliance so Charles had little alternative but to quash his misgivings and send orders to Ambassador Chapuys to investigate the possibility of an alliance between their two countries.

Chapuys had not dared to argue about his orders, or even ventured to suggest that a different strategy might be more advantageous for them but it was plain that he was not pleased at the idea of allying with England, not when an alliance would mean that he, as ambassador, would be the one forced to acknowledge Anne as Queen on Charles' behalf but he had become somewhat reconciled to the idea, especially when he was told that Princess Mary's restoration as King Henry's legitimate heir was to be a condition of any alliance between the two countries.

Charles had fond memories of his young cousin as a charming little girl to whom he had once been betrothed and who, if she had been a few years older, would probably have become his bride. As it was, she was too young and he was under too much pressure to marry and produce an heir to be able to wait for Mary to reach marriageable age, so he had little alternative but to break his word, marrying Princess Isabella of Portugal instead.

If it had been possible, he would not have conceded defeat over the question of Mary's right to a place in the line of succession but once King Francis began to make overtures to King Henry, he felt that he had little alternative. King Henry would not be willing to acknowledge Mary's rights as his heir as long as he had hope that Anne would provide him with a son and Charles could not risk him allying with France against him. He could not continue to push the issue of Mary's succession or he would risk alienating the other monarch.

He could only imagine how unhappy Chapuys would have been when he received instructions to drop the issue of Mary's restoration but, even so, he was surprised that his ambassador would be so foolish as to plot against Anne's life, not under the circumstances, not when he knew that Spain needed England's friendship and that there was an excellent chance that her death would be blamed on Charles.

The man was a fool to make a move against her at a time like this, and an even bigger fool for involving Mary in his schemes. They were very fortunate that King Henry was not prepared to prosecute his daughter for her involvement and if he had chosen to do so, other monarchs would have a great deal of sympathy for him as they too would be well aware of the risks that they might face if their own heirs were encouraged by the girl's example.

The letter from Cromwell, although it was carefully and politely worded, was a test. Only a fool could fail to be aware of that and Charles was no fool.

If he refused to allow King Henry to deal with Chapuys and to punish him as he saw fit, if he demanded that his ambassador be released and sent back to Spain so that he could deal with him personally, then the other man was likely to assume that he condoned Chapuys' actions, or that he might even have given orders for Anne to be killed. If he came to this conclusion, then an alliance between England and France would be a certainty. Charles had no doubt that King Francis would be aware of what had happened by now, and that he would lose no time in extending his sympathies to the English royal couple over the incident.

That could not be allowed to happen.

If he wanted to prevent it, Charles could not afford to be any less appalled by the attempted murder of the Queen of England than King Francis was certain to be, he could not be any less sympathetic towards Henry and Anne and he could not be any less vehement in his condemnations of those responsible… including Mary.

He would not be able to speak up for his cousin any more, not for the time being, at any rate, especially where the issue of her right to a place in the line of succession was concerned.

According to Cromwell, William Brereton had confessed that Mary's involvement was motivated by her desire to be Queen. If he were to champion that cause, now or in the future, he would be judged to have supported the attempt on Anne's life and Anglo-Imperial diplomatic relations would suffer a huge setback, one they might not recover from for generations.

With a heavy heart, Charles took up a quill and parchment and began to write, addressing the letter to his 'beloved brother of England', deliberately refraining from saluting him as 'uncle', the title Henry professed to be delighted by when he was still married to Queen Katherine and that he objected to now that he claimed that the marriage had never been valid. He stressed his outrage at the news of the attack on the Queen, tendering apologies for the deplorable behaviour of his ambassador and giving his blessing for Chapuys to be dealt with as he saw fit.

* * *

Brereton had failed.

Although the news of his failure, his capture and his inevitable execution for his supposed crime came as a disappointment to the Pope, he took a measure of comfort in the knowledge that the man he had charged with the task of killing the King of England's whore remained loyal to him to the end, never even hinting at the possibility of papal involvement in the attempt on Anne Boleyn's life, a revelation that might have done the Church a great deal of harm, and at a time when they needed to stand strong and united against the threat of the Lutheran heresy, a threat that would surely destroy them if they could not stop its spread.

Brereton's bravery would not be forgotten and the Pope knew that if he was executed for his attempt at carrying out God's work, even if he had not succeeded, he would still be beloved for making the attempt, for having the courage to try to save England from heresy and, as promised, his family would be well looked-after, more amply provided for than Brereton's own resources would ever have allowed.

Perhaps England was not past saving, after all. Reports from the country indicated that the form of the Mass remained very similar, far more akin to the true, holy rites than to the blasphemous Lutheran rituals. The Bible was being translated into the English language and the King was generally acknowledged as Head of the Church, a rejection of the Pope's authority but perhaps it was not too late for them to be won back into the fold, for their errors to be reversed.

When the prodigal son swallowed his pride and returned home, he was not greeted with paternal reproaches for his abandonment, though those reproaches would have been well earned. Instead, he was welcomed back with feasting and joy.

No less would be done for King Henry and for England if they saw the error of their ways and re-embraced the true faith of their own accord, an outcome he prayed for above all others.

The Emperor urged him not to proceed with the bull of excommunication and he would yield to that plea, waiting to see what the King of England's next move would be.

He prayed that he would make the right choice, just as he prayed for the repose of brave Brereton's soul.


	10. Chapter Nine

**_1st May 1536_ **

When Jack Smith opened his tavern almost twenty years previously, he chose the name _The Queen's Head_ , a dubious compliment to Katherine of Aragon, who was still called Queen in those days. The face painted on the wooden sign outside the building was not a good likeness, which was hardly surprising as neither the artist nor his patron had ever seen the subject in person, except at a great distance and, over the years, the paint had faded, weathered away by time and by the elements, the occasional touch-ups obscuring the original image even further until the features could scarcely be made out.

All that was visible now was the outline of a face, framed by long dark hair, with a crown atop the head. If somebody looked at the image now, not knowing the age of the sign, they would probably conclude that the face was intended to be Queen Anne's, which was just as well, under the circumstances.

Today, the tavern was so packed that many of the men there were obliged to stand as there was no space for them on the benches or the stools provided and, like every other tavern in London, it was abuzz with the news of the executions that had taken place today, the executions of the two men who had conspired to murder Queen Anne, the men whose names had been on the lips of half the country for almost four weeks, since word of the attempt made to poison the lady first escaped the palace.

An attempt on the life of the King or the Queen was always a matter for conversation, and while people might disapprove of an attempt made to murder a member of the royal family, that did not make it any less exciting for them to discuss the scandal, speculating over the method the would-be assassin had used and over what would have happened if he had succeeded, though the latter was something that was best discussed in low voices and only in the hearing of friends who could be trusted not to repeat what they had heard.

What made this assassination attempt even more interesting than most was not just that the assassin, if he had succeeded, would have taken two royal lives, the Queen's and that of her unborn child, the identities of those involved were surprising, to say the least.

That William Brereton, the King's own groom, should be involved was in itself fodder for the rumour mills. That the man could have lived so closely to the royal couple for so long while planning the death of Queen Anne was nothing short of astonishing. If somebody so trusted by the King could prove to be a traitor, how could His Majesty ever trust in the loyalty of any of his servants again? The involvement of the Imperial ambassador added another dimension to the scandal, lending an extra touch of intrigue as people wondered whether Ambassador Chapuys was truly acting without the knowledge or consent of his master, the Emperor, as he claimed to be or if he was lying to protect his master.

If those who attended his execution, held at noon that day on Tower Hill and a spectacle that the public had been welcome to be present for, had hoped that he would reveal the truth of the situation with his last words – and everybody knew that no man would dare to die with a lie on his lips – they were doomed to be disappointed. If Chapuys had confessed the truth, he must have done so only to his confessor. He staunchly refused to address the crowd, contenting himself with saying a prayer in Latin before kneeling in front of the block and stretching his arms out to indicate to the executioner that he might strike when ready.

As soon as his head was struck from his body, those who had come prepared with pieces of cloth surged forward to dip the rags in the blood, a souvenir of the day.

Brereton's execution was held within the Tower itself, witnessed only by a few of the members of the King's Privy Council. As a poisoner, he was sentenced to the terrible penalty of being boiled alive, and unlike Chapuys, his sentence was not commuted to a quicker death by decapitation. It was not something that the King and his council wanted witnesses to be present for.

If any of the men in the tavern were struck by the contrast between the celebrations taking place today in honour of May Day and the approaching of summer and the brutal, gruesome deaths that had taken place on the same day, none of them remarked on it.

"If you ask me, those Spaniards can't be trusted." One man spoke up, draining the last of the ale from his wooden mug. "Didn't the Emperor promise King Harry his friendship years ago and now his ambassador tries to have the Queen murdered – does he really expect us to believe that he never knew anything of what was being planned? Does he think that we are fools?"

"We paid a pretty penny in new taxes to help him win his wars and what good did that do England? None!" Another man spat on the floor in disgust. "That for the Spanish!" He chuckled a little. "Maybe the Lady Anne had the right idea when she said that they should all be drowned!"

The first speaker smiled slightly at that before sobering, raising his voice slightly so that all present would be able to hear what he had to say. "It may be that the Emperor is telling the truth," he allowed, "and if the King thought that he was behind it, we'd go to war against the Spanish – I'd do it if it was my missus he'd tried to poison, especially if she had a baby in her belly when he did it." He paused for a moment, hearing the disapproving mutterings; bad enough that somebody should try to kill the Queen, but to do it when she had a prince inside her was worse by far. "If you ask me, it's the Lady Mary who's behind it all."

"She's just a lass!" The protest from the back of the tavern was met with a shrug.

"She may be a lass, but she's a jealous lass, I'd say; she'd love nothing more than to be Queen herself one day and she wasn't happy when the Archbishop learned that she was a bastard and that she couldn't be one of the King's heirs." Seeing that some people were ready to object to his characterizing Mary as a bastard, to protest at the idea that the King's marriage to the Lady Katherine was invalid, he continued before they had a chance to speak, building on his theme. "She'd hate it if His Majesty got a strong little prince from Queen Anne, a healthy boy to be King one day. They say that one of the Princess Dowager's sisters was mad," he said meditatively. "Maybe the Lady Mary takes after her."

"I don't believe it." The protestor insisted stoutly. "If there was any proof that she was involved, she'd have joined the ambassador on the block."

"Would she?" His tone was challenging. "The King may be ruler but he is a father too and what father could call for his daughter's death? Even if he shows her mercy, it doesn't prove that she is innocent, or that His Majesty believes her to be. I have it from my cousin, whose daughter is in service in the kitchens of Princess Elizabeth's household, that the Lady Mary was removed from there just two days after Queen Anne was nearly killed, on the King's orders. She's been sent far away, so that she can't harm the little princess when she is supposed to be tending to her or send somebody else to kill the Queen and the prince."

"I heard that, and that she's to be kept under close guard in her new home." Another man seconded him, looking thoughtful. "His Majesty wouldn't move her if he didn't think that there was good reason to think that she might be guilty." He pronounced after a moment's consideration.

"He wouldn't; if the Lady Mary had her due, she'd have stood trial for what she did but she is the King's daughter, so her name will be kept out of it. We know the truth." He crossed himself quickly. "God be thanked that the Queen's life was spared, and the baby's." He frowned, his brow creasing with indignation. "Even if the Lady Mary believed that she had cause for quarrel with Queen Anne, it was pure wickedness and nothing less to try to harm her while she carried a child – even if a woman is a criminal, they never hang her if she's got a baby in her belly. The baby is innocent, no matter what."

There was a chorus of muttered agreement. While some of them held opinions of Queen Anne that were far from complimentary, nobody present could deny that the child she carried was innocent of all wrong doing and, to a man, they were appalled by the idea that the King's son might have been murdered before he was born, even if they would not have shed tears if the Queen herself died.

Looking around him, gauging the mood of the men in the tavern, Michael Jacobs slid a hand into his pocket, fingering the cool metal of the coins he carried. This was the sixth tavern he had visited in half as many weeks, striking up the same conversation each time, as Lord Wiltshire asked him to and as he was well paid to.

By now, he had developed quite a knack for estimating just how far he could safely push the patrons of a tavern, to judge their mood and to know when he had said enough, when the idea was planted in their minds, a seed of suspicion towards the Lady Mary that would take root and grow after he was gone, and when the time came to water that seed.

That time was now.

Fishing several coins out of his pocket, he made his way to the bar, pushing past several patrons to reach Jack Smith, slapping the silver coins down in front of him and watching the man's eyes widen.

"An ale, my friend, one for every man here, yourself included." His instructions drew cheers from the other men, some of whom slapped the back of his shoulders by way of thanks and they jostled to reach the bar, snatching up the mugs of ale faster than Jack could fill them. Waiting until every man had a full mug in hand, Michael raised his own mug in toast. "To Queen Anne, God bless her!" He all but bellowed the words, wanting every man present to be able to hear him. "Here's to her health."

The first time he called for a toast for the Queen, as he was instructed to by Lord Wiltshire, Michael was worried when the response was lukewarm at best, afraid that his master would be angry to learn that even the prospect of a free drink was not enough to prompt the men in the tavern to toast his daughter with the same enthusiasm and warmth that the Lady Katherine had once been toasted with. He seriously considered embellishing his account when he reported to Lord Wiltshire, implying that Queen Anne was toasted with joy and enthusiasm but he decided that he should tell the truth and did so, though his knees felt weak as he spoke.

In the end, it turned out that that was a very wise move on his part. Another two agents, thinking to please Lord Wiltshire, vowed to him that the men at the taverns to which they were assigned cheered Queen Anne loudly, calling blessings on her… and were dismissed immediately for bringing back false reports, not paid so much as a farthing of the money they were promised for their service. As Lord Wiltshire remarked to Michael later, it was too much to expect that Queen Anne would be beloved by the people, not yet, not when memories of the Lady Katherine were still so strong. If the men toasted her at all, if they did not object to her title as Queen, then it was a very positive sign and an excellent beginning.

They would only need to worry if people refused to accept the drinks or, worse still, if they chose to leave the tavern altogether rather than staying while others toasted the Queen.

The reception from the patrons of The Queen's Head was about the same as in the previous taverns, perhaps even a touch warmer than usual as the men raised their mugs, quietly echoing Michael's last words before they drank. Perhaps it was only a small victory for Queen Anne, but it was not a defeat and that was all that really mattered.

"To the King!" Another man bellowed, and the chorused response was louder by far, warm and spirited.

Even after everything that had happened over the years, His Majesty was a popular man.

Once the cries died down, Michael raised his mug once again, impulsively adding an extra toast. "To the little Prince! Long life and good health to him!"

The cheers were almost deafening.

* * *

When Anne Boleyn was in a bad temper, she could never conceal it. From their childhood, Mary knew that her younger sister was capable of furious, noisy tantrums when her wishes were ignored or when somebody angered her and while she had thankfully outgrown her tendency to fling herself to the floor and kick and scream, the sulky expression on her face was reminiscent of her nursery days.

Her ladies-in-waiting were only too happy to quit the room when she ordered them to do so, glad to be able to leave her in Mary's hands and to be safely out of range should she lose her temper.

Knowing their father as well as she did, Mary hadn't really expected him to be able to hold his tongue on the subject of Anne's plans for the religious houses until she was safely delivered of her child, despite her reminders that it was good for Anne to have something to keep her occupied, no matter what that was and it was surprising that he had managed to remain quiet on the subject until now but she had not expected his reaction to be as strong as it was, or for him to be so foolish as to continue to scold, even when he could see that Anne was taking umbrage at his words and at his raised tone, even when Mary tried to silence him.

She had taken the initiative and all but bundled her father out of the room, firmly indicating that it would be a good idea if he stayed away from Anne's rooms until he could control his tongue but the damage was already done and Anne's face was pale when he left, her blue eyes stony with rage as she scowled.

"You shouldn't let him upset you like this," she ventured gently, reaching out to lay a hand on Anne's shoulder but her sister jerked away from her touch, clearly unwilling to be coaxed out of her bad temper. "It's not good for you or for the baby."

"He has no right to talk to me like that!" Anne insisted, her expression darkening at the thought of the sharp words her father had spoken, within earshot of her ladies-in-waiting, to make matters worse. She was certain that by nightfall, everybody at court would know that she had been reproached like a naughty little girl. "I'm the Queen of England, not a child who can be slapped and sent to bed for daring to argue with him!"

"I know," Mary tried to pacify her, "he's just worried, that's all. He doesn't mean to upset you – or to undermine you," she added, guessing that Anne's anger stemmed from injury to her pride at being reproved in the hearing of her attendants as much as, if not more than from their father's actual words. "He thinks that there are some people at court who are hoping to see Master Cromwell dissolve the monasteries and sell off all of their property because it means that they will be able to buy up the land cheaply and he's worried that they're going to resent you if you stand in the way of that and encourage the King to devote the proceeds to the common people instead. He's thinking of you." Even as she said it, Mary knew that she was stretching the truth with her last statement; while their father was concerned with Anne's position, it was not as much for Anne's sake as it was for his own. No man in England could deny that he had benefited from her rise to the throne and that he would continue to benefit from having his daughter as Queen and his grandson as heir to the throne.

Anne was in no mood to listen to any excuses that Mary might make for their father and she held up a hand to silence her. "If you're going to defend him, I don't want to hear it." She said coldly. "I don't want him to come in here!" Her tone became shriller as she spoke, her eyes bright and her breathing becoming slightly shallower and more rapid than normal.

"Anne, please, you need to calm down." Mary said in a half-coaxing, half-warning tone as she nodded in the direction of the heavy curtain separating them from the ladies-in-waiting in the outer chamber. "They'll all be able to hear you out there – and if Mistress Porter and Dr Linacre see you like this, they'll think that you're over-excited or overwrought or something and you don't want that, not again."

This was enough to get Anne to subside.

Henry had waited before breaking the news of her stepdaughter's involvement in the attempt on her life to her, deeming it best to postpone the telling until little Elizabeth had arrived at court and was brought in to see Anne, so that she could see for herself that her daughter was unharmed, in excellent health and spirits. Once the little girl's governess had escorted her away, Henry told Anne about Mary's involvement but despite his efforts to deliver the news as gently as possible, it had still horrified her, leaving her hysterical with fear at the thought of what might have happened, unable to truly believe that she and Elizabeth and the baby were safe, despite her husband's promise that he had made sure that Mary would be kept closely guarded from now on and that she wouldn't be able to pose a threat to them.

Mistress Porter had been worried enough about Anne's terrified, frantic ramblings to prompt her to send for Dr Linacre, who administered a calming draught before leaving instructions that she was to be kept quiet for the next two days and left to rest and recover, which meant that no visitors were permitted and even her ladies in waiting weren't allowed to sit with her, just in case they did or said something that might upset or excite her. After two boring, lonely days punctuated by doses of Dr Linacre's draught, a foul-tasting mixture that made her feel sleepy and fuzzy-minded, Anne had no intention of repeating the experience.

Outside the bedchamber, they could hear somebody enter the room, together with the respectful murmurs of greeting from the ladies-in-waiting and a moment later, Madge Shelton pushed open the curtain separating the rooms and curtsied deeply to Anne.

"Your Majesty, the Duke of Norfolk is here to see you."

"This is a surprise." Anne remarked quietly to Mary, nodding to Madge to indicate that she could admit Norfolk. Although, as a close relative, her uncle was one of the few men permitted to visit her in her current condition, he had taken advantage of this only occasionally. "I wonder what he wants."

A moment later, Madge returned. She curtsied deeply as she announced the visitor. "Your Majesty, His Grace, the Duke of Norfolk."

"Uncle." Anne held out a slim hand as he entered and he took it in his, bending low to kiss it as he greeted her, keeping one hand behind his back. She stiffened when she saw that, wondering what he was concealing, if he had been allowed to enter her rooms with a weapon and she breathed an audible sigh of relief when he brought his hand forward, revealing the small, covered silver tray he carried.

"Some early strawberries, Your Majesty, ripe in time for May Day." He explained, removing the lid of the tray with a flourish and revealing a dish of strawberries, lightly dusted with sugar, and a small pitcher of new cream. He winked at Anne. "I had to sneak these past your midwife so I am sure that I will be in trouble if she finds out."

"We both will." Anne agreed with a giggle, her relief cheering her up immeasurably. Since Brereton's poison, she found herself becoming more and more nervous about the possibility of a second attack, no matter how often she was reassured that there was no need for her to worry, that they were redoubling their precautions to make sure that nothing like it was ever allowed to happen again, and that with the Lady Mary shut away at the More under close guard, she wouldn't be able to incite another attack. Maybe it was foolish for her to be so worried but she couldn't help it. After Brereton, she couldn't reassure herself that she was imagining a threat where none truly existed, not any more.

"Well, I am sure that you won't let them lock me in the Tower for it." Norfolk joked. He glanced towards Mary, his expression chilly as he greeted her. "Mary." His disapproval was plain. Anne might have forgiven her sister for her marriage but Norfolk had no intention of doing so, especially since William Stafford was foolish enough to come to court, putting the family in a position where they were forced to either acknowledge him or risk provoking gossip about a rift between the Queen's kin.

"Uncle." Mary curtsied slightly, glancing towards Anne to see if she wanted her to stay or if she would prefer to speak to their uncle alone. When Anne nodded, almost imperceptibly, she curtsied again. "If you will excuse me, Your Majesty, I will withdraw."

Once Mary had left, Norfolk set the silver tray down on the small table beside the bed. When Anne made no move to touch the fruit, he gestured to the bowl, guessing that she might be reluctant to take anything that had not been tasted first – understandable, under the circumstances, even if it was insulting to think that his niece might believe him capable of murdering her. "May I?" Anne nodded and he poured some cream over the berries before selecting one of them and eating it, an example that Anne followed. "The precautions they are taking to ensure that you and the baby are healthy are admirable," he remarked casually, "but I am sure that strawberries can't hurt either of you. When your aunt was carrying our son, she ate clay and it never did them any harm."

"Are you serious?" Anne asked incredulously. When she was carrying Elizabeth, she had a furious craving for apples for months but she couldn't imagine eating clay.

"I am, I swear it." He surveyed her with a keen eye, on the lookout for any signs of illness of weakness but she seemed to be as well as they could expect her to be under the circumstances and he was relieved to see it. "How are you feeling, my dear niece?" He asked solicitously.

Anne shrugged. "Well enough."

"But bored, I imagine." Norfolk suggested with a smile. "I can sympathize. I took a fall from my horse one winter when I was a boy and broke my leg, so I was kept in bed for almost two full months while it healed. The longest months of my life – and your mother was no help," he remarked, remembering his sister's teasing. "She visited more often than anybody else but she always made sure to tell me what I was missing, especially when Christmas and the New Year came and I missed all of the celebrations."

"What are they doing for May Day this year?" Anne asked, her tone slightly wistful as she thought of the holiday she was missing. It was one of her favourites and she hated having to absent herself from the festivities, even though it was unavoidable this year. Of all the celebrations for her to have to miss! Would Jane Seymour be named Queen of the May in her absence, crowned with a wreath of flowers and taking her place in the jousts, feasting and dancing?

"I'm afraid that it will be a quiet May Day this year, Your Majesty." Although his words were regretful, his tone was not and he smiled slightly as he spoke, knowing that Anne was unlikely to regret it either. "Without the Queen, there will be few celebrations. The Princess Elizabeth dined with the King today, in the Hall. His Majesty spends a great deal of time with her." He said, turning the subject, knowing that his niece would be pleased to know that her little daughter was being honoured as a princess and that she was so favoured by the King, and also knowing that she would also be relieved that her husband was spending so much time in their child's company; even Henry wasn't about to flirt with another woman while little Elizabeth was present.

"What about the French ambassador?" Anne asked. "Has he arrived yet? Is Elizabeth to be presented to him?"

"He is to arrive within the week," Norfolk told her. "Jean de Bellay, the Bishop of Bayenne will be negotiating the match, rather than the Admiral of France." He added, knowing that this would be another piece of good news for Anne.

When he visited England, the Admiral of France stayed with the Duke of Suffolk and his wife, snubbing Anne by refusing to call on her or to attend the tennis match and banquet she had arranged in his honour. The Suffolks were no friends to her but Anne knew that this was not the reason for the Admiral's rudeness, or for the rejection of a possible match between Elizabeth and the Duke of Angouleme. At that time, King Francis wanted to cultivate the Emperor's friendship and therefore, his ambassador was given instructions to snub Anne but even so, she was glad that Jean de Bellay was being sent in his stead this time. He had always been friendly towards her, even before her marriage.

She wondered if he still had the dog she gave him. Wolsey.

"Do you think that King Francis will agree to the match – really?" She added pointedly.

"I think that he is very likely to agree to the match." Norfolk assured her. "He needs England's help in his campaign against the Emperor and he would rather see the Princess married to one of his own son's than to risk that the Emperor would propose a marriage between Princess Elizabeth and his son, Prince Philip."

"That will never happen!" Anne exclaimed. The idea was absurd! Surely Katherine's nephew, the Lady Mary's cousin, would never dream of proposing a marriage between Elizabeth – whom she was convinced he still saw as a bastard, no matter what promises or outward show of acceptance he made regarding her status as a princess – and his precious son and heir.

"I wouldn't be so certain, Anne." He contradicted her mildly, smiling inwardly when she didn't insist that he observe royal protocol when he addressed her. She didn't even seem to notice that he addressed her by her Christian name. "He fears an alliance between England and France above all and, whatever his family feelings on the matter, he knows that it is in Spain's best interests if they are the ones with a strong alliance with England, rather than France. If Elizabeth marries Prince Philip, then he is brother-in-law to the future King of England, a prize valuable enough to silence any misgivings the Emperor may have."

"Maybe..." Anne's tone was doubtful. What he was saying made sense but she couldn't believe that the Emperor, who had stood against her marriage to Henry, keeping the pope from granting an annulment to make sure that his aunt was not discarded and his cousin disinherited, and who refused to acknowledge her as Queen, even after England broke away from the papacy, would ever contemplate going back on his previous stance by making an offer for Elizabeth's hand on his son's behalf.

"It would certainly be an excellent match, if it could be arranged." Norfolk mused aloud. "It would be a sign to all of Europe that your marriage to the King is indeed good and valid and that it is accepted as such by the Emperor, despite his relationship with the late Princess Dowager. The boy is still young, just five or six years older than Princess Elizabeth, and he is said to be clever and that he shows signs of being a handsome man one day. It would make your daughter the future Queen of Spain," he added pointedly, "and that would be a more glorious future for her than life as the Duchess of Angouleme, wife of a younger son, don't you agree?"

Anne couldn't deny the truth of what he was saying. If the match could be arranged, it would be an excellent one for Elizabeth, better than the proposed match with King Francis' younger son, but it wasn't one that she could see happening, not really.

"I am sure that when the prince is born and you are recovered, the King will discuss the matter with you." Norfolk said cheerfully, chuckling lightly. "It would certainly be a match to displease the Lady Mary!" He pronounced, knowing that this was an understatement, to say the least. Mary was sure to take it as a betrayal of herself and of her late mother if their relative was prepared to allow a marriage between Elizabeth and his son and heir. Anne frowned at the mention of Mary and he hastened to change the subject. "Your father mentioned that the King has charged you with determining how to use the assets of several religious houses."

"He did."

"It's a fascinating project," he remarked approvingly, in case she thought that he shared her father's disapproval of her interest. He might not think that it was an appropriate activity for a woman, by any stretch of the imagination, but he had no intention of voicing that opinion around Anne, especially when he knew what a bone of contention it was between his niece and her father. It was far better to indulge her whims. "You must let me know if there is anything that I can do to help you with it."

"I will." Her smile was genuine. "Thank you, uncle."

* * *

May Day was one of the favourite holidays at court, especially amongst the younger, unwed men and women. It was a time when people might look the other way if a young couple were seen to dance together more often that was strictly proper, or even if they exchanged a kiss, a time when marriages were often arranged, when men jousted wearing the favours of their chosen lady and when no expense was spared when it came to gowns and jewels, so that each lady could look her best at the picnics and dances.

This year, the holiday was a dull one.

There were no jousts, no special feasts and only the ordinary dancing in the evenings. A special Mass was celebrated in the morning, with prayers said for the health and prosperity of the King, Queen and Princess and for the safe delivery of a strong prince.

Princess Elizabeth, dressed in a beautiful gown of pale green and white, the Tudor colours, with white rosebuds arranged in her fair hair, was carried to the chapel in her father's arms and after the service, the Seymours watched as the King paraded through the court, carrying the toddler princess and beaming as the courtiers admired her infant prettiness, predicting that she would be a true beauty when she grew to womanhood.

"He loves her very much." Jane remarked softly, her words intended only for her brother's ears. "He has been speaking of her a great deal, especially of late. He never mentions Princess Mary, not at all."

"Lady Mary." Edward corrected her in a low voice, speaking firmly, even though it was plain that he wasn't happy about it. "You cannot allow anybody to hear you call her a princess, especially not in these days. The Queen's family would love nothing more than to be able to bring evidence to the King that you sympathize with the Lady Mary and that would make him suspicious of you." His voice dropped to the barest whisper. "We can't afford that, especially after what happened to the Queen. Do you want His Majesty to suspect that you were involved in that?"

"No." Jane's voice was small.

"Then don't speak of the Lady Mary, to the King or to anybody else."

Jane nodded comprehension. Even if she didn't agree with her brother's words, she could see the sense in what he was saying. The King was in no mood to hear anybody speak a word in his elder daughter's favour, not now and he would not react kindly if she did try to intercede on Mary's behalf or to persuade him of her innocence – and she couldn't believe that she was involved in the attempt made to poison the Queen, no matter what anybody said.

"There will be no jousting today," she remarked quietly, her tone regretful. She had hoped that the King would wear her favour if he rode in the lists again, or that he might even ask her to present the prizes to the winners, in Queen Anne's absence but she was disappointed when she learned that rather than continue with the celebrations without the Queen, the King decided to cancel the revels altogether.

"You need not worry about that, Mistress Seymour." A cold voice spoke up behind her and Jane spun around to see the Earl of Wiltshire standing there, a spiteful smile on his face. "If you wish for feasting and jousting, there will be plenty of both within the month, when the Queen – my daughter – bears the King a strong, healthy son."

"Or a second daughter." Edward pointed out in an even tone, knowing that the remark would anger the other man. "The astrologers were wrong about Princess Elizabeth being a son, after all. How can anybody be certain whether the child will be a boy or a girl until it is born?"

That Boleyn was angry was plain. His brow creased in a scowl for a moment before he recovered his composure but even then, his smile was plainly forced and did not reach his eyes. "It may be another daughter," he allowed grudgingly, "but I am certain that the King will welcome a strong healthy girl and know that the Queen will give him a son the next year. After all," he nodded towards Henry, who was happily showing Elizabeth off, "he certainly loves the little Princess." Not giving either of the Seymours a chance to argue, he swept away, approaching the King and bowing deeply before patting his granddaughter's soft cheek.

"Do you think that he is right?" Jane asked, worried, watching as Henry laughed with Boleyn, his pride in Elizabeth evident. "Do you think that he will stay married to the Queen, even if the baby is a girl?" All these months, they had been waiting for Anne to be delivered of her child, waiting to find out if that woman would succeed in producing a son, which would mean that her power would be assured until the end of her days, or if she would fail, which would mean that Jane might have a chance to become the King's new wife and Queen.

She did not know what she would do if she had to wait longer to see how things stood between the King and Queen and to find out what she should do.

"I don't know." Edward confessed. He was enough of a realist to know that, while the King was certainly infatuated with his sister and while his determination to ensure that nobody could suspect that theirs was a carnal relationship was a positive sign, one that proved that he saw her as more than just another conquest, theirs was a relationship with no clear future, not under the present circumstances.

The King might enjoy playing the part of the courtly lover but he was unlikely to be satisfied with an empty game much longer and there were already signs that he was tiring of it... and of Jane.

Should Queen Anne succeed in producing a son, the King would never discard her, nor would he want to. Her hold over him would be stronger than ever and if she asked that Jane, or even the whole Seymour family, be sent away from court, he would be so grateful to her for giving him his great desire that he would grant her request without hesitating, forgetting about Jane before she was gone a fortnight. If he took a mistress later, as he was almost certain to do once his exhilaration at being the father of a son wore off a little, it would be her family who would benefit, not the Seymours.

On the other hand, if Anne failed, then it might be only a matter of time before the King cast her aside and looked to take a new wife, one who could give him sons and if he still had a fancy for Jane when that time came, she might become his next bride – and if she succeeded in giving the King a son, Edward would be uncle to the next King of England.

However, while he didn't believe that Boleyn was as confident in his words as he pretended to be, the possibility that the birth of a daughter might buy the Queen some time could not be ignored. A second girl would be a disappointment to the King but he was fond of children and would welcome a living child, even if that child was only a daughter. If the Queen could survive the aftermath of that disappointment long enough to conceive again, giving the King fresh hope of a son and buying herself another year's grace, Jane would never be able to hold his interest long enough to supplant her.

She was pretty and she was sweet-natured but she lacked the fascinating, nameless quality that had allowed Anne to capture the King's interest and to hold it for so long, ensuring that the King never even thought about turning his attentions to another woman, despite the long years of waiting.

She might become his mistress.

It was not a thought that he would voice aloud, not before his father or his sister at any rate, but if worst came to worst, and Queen Anne was delivered of a healthy son, then Jane might hope to wield a great deal of influence if she became the King's mistress, after which a good match would be found for her, a better one than their father would be able to secure.

It was worth considering but Jane should not yield to the King's advances, not yet, not as long as there was still hope.

"The King is coming." He said softly, bowing deeply as Henry approached with little Elizabeth in his arms and stepping back several paces, instinctively knowing that his presence would not be welcomed.

"Your Majesty." Jane curtsied deeply as he approached, waiting until he indicated that she might rise before she stood upright, smiling at the toddler in his arms. "Princess Elizabeth." The child stared at her with wide eyes, as though she was studying her, her expression so much older than her years that it was almost disconcerting. She had her mother's eyes and Jane got the distinct impression that when little Elizabeth looked at her, she didn't like what she was seeing. Feeling ridiculous for being nervous around a toddler, she adopted her friendliest tone as she spoke to her, smiling as widely and as kindly as she could, wanting to convince her that she was a friend, not a foe. "I hope that you are well today, Your Highness."

Elizabeth nodded solemnly but did not speak.

"Don't you want to say 'hello' to Mistress Seymour, sweetheart?" Henry asked, kissing his daughter's chubby cheek and shifting her into a more comfortable position in his arms, his attention absorbed by the child.

"Hello, Mistress Seymour." Elizabeth's tone was grave as she greeted Jane and then, losing interest in the lady who was a stranger to her, she wrapped her arms around her father's neck. "I want to see my Mama now." She announced imperiously. "Can we go to see Mama, Papa? I want to see her."

Henry laughed, holding the child close, pleased by her affectionate, caring nature. "Of course we can go to see Mama, my darling." He promised. "We can go to see her right now, if you like. I'm sure that she'd love to see you."

"And you." Elizabeth reminded him.

Henry laughed. "And me." He agreed, smiling at Elizabeth before turning and inclining his head in Jane's direction. "If you will excuse us, Lady Jane, this little lady and I will be off to pay a visit to the Queen."

Jane curtsied deeply in acknowledgement of his words, doing her best to keep the disappointment from her face. She had hoped that they would be able to take the opportunity to go for a walk together, enjoying the early summer sunshine and the sight and scent of the garden in full bloom but Henry's attention was focused on the child in his arms. He barely noticed her.

"Flowers!" Elizabeth insisted. "I want to bring flowers."

"That you shall, sweetheart." Henry promised indulgently as he carried her away. "We will go straight out to see the gardeners and you can pick the prettiest flowers they have and as many as you like. Would you like that?"

Jane could see little Elizabeth nodding enthusiastically as she was carried away. She watched them leave, discussing which flowers Elizabeth wanted to bring and wondered if the King would turn back to look at her, give her some indication that, but for his daughter's desire to see her mother, he would prefer to remain behind with her.

He didn't.

If the Queen had coached her little daughter, instructing her with regard to what she should say and do, Elizabeth couldn't have done a better job of winning her father's attention away from Jane and directing it back towards her mother.

As she watched him go, Jane could hear the whispered conversations struck up around her, the hissed speculation about what all of this would mean, whether the King was going to choose his wife and his daughter over her, even if there was no son, whether this was an early indication that he was going to discard Jane altogether and it was all she could do to keep her expression impassive, to keep her face from revealing the despair that the thought caused her.

She couldn't lose him.

She couldn't!


	11. Chapter Ten

**_19th May 1536_ **

Dr Linacre's face was almost expressionless as he examined Anne, being careful not to allow any emotion to show as he probed the swell of her stomach to judge the position of the baby, noting its movements before examining Anne for signs of dropsy or any other complications, finding none. Finally, with his examination concluded, he permitted himself a small smile, relieved to see that all was well.

When he was hastily summoned to the Queen's rooms early in the morning, he had feared the worst, as there were still a couple of weeks to go until the baby was due.

Of course, children could be born weeks earlier than this and still live and thrive but the Queen's pregnancy was a special one, of vital importance to the whole country, and he would be much happier if the baby was carried full term.

"Everything looks fine, Your Majesty, there is nothing for you to be concerned about." He reassured her kindly. "The child will not be born today – which is just as well, as it would be rather early for it to arrive – but within a fortnight, or perhaps a few days more, you will hold your baby in your arms, God willing."

"Are you sure?" Anne pressed anxiously. "The pains…"

"It is not unusual for a woman to suffer pains similar to those of the early stages of childbirth in the weeks before her delivery, Your Majesty." Dr Linacre told her. "But they are false pains, not true childbirth and while they are unpleasant, they do not do the child any harm and they are not portents of a difficult birth, I promise you that. If they return – and they may – I will give you some medicine to ease the pain, but there is no reason why this should not be a straight-forward birth, or why the baby should not be strong and healthy."

As he spoke, he said a prayer that this would be true; he was the one charged with ensuring that the Queen was cared for during her confinement and with ensuring that every possibly precaution was taken to ensure that mother and baby both came through the ordeal of childbirth alive and whole. He was afraid that if anything went wrong, he would be blamed for not being careful enough with them and if that happened, the King's wrath would be terrible.

Reassured by his words, Anne relaxed, lying back against her pillows.

When she began to feel the same twinges of pain that had preceded her labour with Elizabeth, she called for Mistress Porter immediately and the woman had taken charge straight away, issuing instructions to Anne's ladies-in-waiting like a general giving orders to the troops he commanded, dispatching them to fetch clean linens, to give orders to the servants to bring hot water up from the kitchens and to find Dr Linacre and bring him up immediately. However, before the preparations were complete, Anne's pains were already subsiding and when Linacre arrived and examined her, he explained that it was only a false alarm, an announcement that she was sure had caused considerable disappointment to quite a few people, her husband and father included.

"Mistress Porter tells me that you have not been sleeping well these past few nights," Although Dr Linacre's tone was conversational, he frowned slightly as he spoke, an almost paternally reproachful expression on his face. "You should have told me when you first began to have difficulty sleeping, Your Majesty, I could have given you something to help."

Anne didn't respond. It was irritating to know that her every move was being reported back to the physician, who was told every detail about her day, her progress and any setbacks. Dr Linacre was told everything from what she ate and how she slept to how often she used the closet! Over the past few nights, she had been woken by nightmares but hadn't felt inclined to share that detail with anybody, not wanting to talk about it.

The images in her mind were terrible and she couldn't bear the idea of voicing them to anybody, not even her brother or sister and certainly not her physician.

"I'll prepare a tonic for you to take tonight, one to bring a sound and dreamless sleep." Dr Linacre told her, his tone brooking no argument. "You will need all the rest you can get in the coming weeks."

Once she was safely tucked back into bed, with a hot posset pressed on her to help to calm her nerves and stave off any more false alarms, Dr Linacre departed, promising that he would be back to check on her the next morning, and Henry was admitted to the room for a visit.

"You gave us all a scare, sweetheart." He told her in a mock-chiding tone as soon as he entered, bending down to brush a light kiss on her forehead before he sat down. "I thought that our son was on his way, and before I had made proper arrangements for the celebrations or for the christening or anything else. I believe that Brandon and some of the others are also betting on the day of the birth. Whoever chose today will be disappointed – but Elizabeth will be pleased." He added cheerfully.

"Why?" Anne was curious about why her daughter would be pleased about the delay, given her impatience to meet her baby brother.

"She needs more time to be able to choose a gift for him," Henry explained. "She wants to have it ready for when he is born."

"I thought that she already decided on the hobby horse." Anne pointed out. Once Elizabeth voiced her intention to pick out a gift to give the baby when he was born, Lady Bryan was given access to funds to purchase whatever Elizabeth wanted and permission to send for merchants and craftsmen from London who could bring a selection of their wares to the palace to enable the little girl to decide on a suitable gift, a choice that she took very seriously.

George, who had been enlisted to help her make the decision, as his niece believed that he would be able to offer her valuable insight into the kind of gift that would be suitable for a little boy, brought Anne updated reports of the decision-making process when he visited, relating anecdotes about the toddler's earnest efforts to ensure that her choice was a perfect one and about her touching desire to welcome her brother into the world.

Henry shook his head, holding a finger to his lips. "Ssh – you're not supposed to know about it." He reproved her teasingly. "It's supposed to be a surprise for you as well as for the baby. And as far as the hobbyhorse goes, Lady Bryan told me that Elizabeth decided that she'd rather keep that for herself, so she needs to pick out something else to give the baby."

Anne laughed. The same thing had happened before, with the songbird. After careful consideration, Elizabeth had chosen the bird and the beautifully crafted cage, thinking that it would be able to sing to the baby, but she grew so fond of it after a few days that she couldn't bear to give it up and decided that something else would make a better present for the baby, so she was allowed to keep the bird in her nursery and Lady Bryan summoned the merchants and craftsmen back a second time.

Maybe it wasn't a good idea for them to be so indulgent with their daughter but Elizabeth's charms were hard to resist. In any case, Anne was happy that she didn't seem to resent the idea of having a baby brother and that she wasn't jealous over the fuss being made over the anticipated arrival of a prince and hoped that this wouldn't change after the baby was born.

Elizabeth might not be old enough to understand about the line of succession to the throne, what it meant to be the heiress presumptive or how the birth of a brother would mean that she was supplanted as the next heir but she was a very intelligent child and she was bound to notice that the ceremony for a prince was much more elaborate than it was for a princess.

"I have some more good news," Henry said cheerfully. "Ambassador de Bellay is going to hold the prince at the font when he is christened. Francis has agreed to be godfather, so his ambassador will be his proxy. Have you thought about who you want as godmother?" He asked. King Francis had proposed his sister, Marguerite of Navarre, indicating that she would be pleased to be godmother to the baby but the idea of asking a woman with whom he had had relations to stand as sponsor to his son when he was baptized was too obscene for him to contemplate. "What about the Duchess of Suffolk?" He suggested. He couldn't ask Brandon to be godfather ahead of the King of France, despite their close friendship but he could honour his friend's wife with the role of godmother. Anne didn't voice an objection but she visibly stiffened at the suggestion, the expression on her face making it plain that she didn't like the idea and this did not go unnoticed. "We don't have to choose her, sweetheart," he said gently, "not if you don't want to. Who would you like? Your sister? Or maybe your sister-in-law?"

"Mary." Anne decided. Her sister had acted as proxy for their step-grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk, when Elizabeth was christened and she could think of nobody better to be godmother to the new baby. Mary had honoured Anne by making her the namesake of her little girl and now she could repay the compliment by making her sister her son's sponsor.

"Whatever you want. Her husband can be one of the men to carry the canopy over the prince – and I can knight him too." He added impulsively. Bestowing knighthoods on several favoured, loyal courtiers would be a wonderful addition to the celebrations in honour of the christening and it was only proper that Stafford, as Anne's brother-in-law and as uncle by marriage to the royal children, should be one of those elevated.

Anne's smile was genuine, lighting up her face. "Thank you."

"I'll make the arrangements." Henry promised, standing and moving to kiss her on the forehead again. "I'll leave you to your rest now." Anne's smile faded away from her face when she realized that the visit was over already and Henry hated to see the joy leave her expression so abruptly. He had seen her look unhappy on countless occasions in recent years but it seemed like a long time since it had had such an impact on him or since he had felt guilty for being the cause of it. It was as though a cloud had passed over the sun, leaving only darkness behind. "Cheer up, my darling." He said encouragingly, hoping to coax the smile back to her face. "I'll be back to see you later, and I'll bring Elizabeth with me. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, of course." Anne's smile was half-hearted and her blue eyes still betrayed her sadness, despite her efforts to conceal her disappointment at her husband's seeming eagerness to leave her side, to visit Jane Seymour, no doubt.

Henry wanted to say something else, to swear that he was only going to be speaking with Master Cromwell and his Privy Council, that only the affairs of state could drag him from her side and that he had no intention of seeing or speaking with Jane but he couldn't bring himself to say it. Anne was no fool and if she suspected that he was dallying with another woman, his denials were more likely to confirm her suspicions than to refute them but, more than that, he found that he couldn't say it.

He always tried to be discreet about the other women he bedded with – at least as discreet as a man in his position could be expected to be – and made sure that he saw them outside the palace walls, in secret with only a few trusted courtiers and servants aware of where he was. Anne might suspect that he had mistresses but she never had to see it, which meant that she could maintain her dignity and shut her eyes, if she was sensible, pretending that she knew nothing of it. It also meant that, since their courtiers were unaware of his infidelities, they couldn't whisper about them, mocking Anne behind her back or openly tormenting her with malicious gossip.

With Jane, it was different.

Their friendship was not something he hid from the court and it was not one that was hidden from Anne. She had seen them together and the resulting shock had almost cost them the life of their son, perhaps even her own life.

He couldn't pretend, not about this.

He couldn't look Anne in the eyes and swear that he had no intention of seeing Jane, that she had no reason to be jealous.

He couldn't lie to her.

* * *

As Sir William promised, the More had been thoroughly cleaned from cellar to attic and workmen had also begun to repair the damage caused by years of neglect, plastering the cracks in the walls, repairing the timber frames and restoring some semblance of order to the grounds, while Sir William sent a request to Master Cromwell for new tapestries to replace the old, moth-eaten ones now hanging on the walls. It would not be long before it was as comfortable a manor house as any other but Mary could take no pleasure in the manor, or in the fact that she was no longer a servant in her little sister's house, instead having a little household of her own.

She was a prisoner.

No matter how careful Sir William, Lady Margaret and the small retinue of servants were to treat her with the respect and consideration she was due as the King's daughter, she couldn't forget that, any more than she could forget that the house in which she now lived, the house where she could end up spending the rest of her life, was the same house that her mother had spent her last years in, living in loneliness and penury, her constant appeals to her husband – and Mary would never acknowledge that her father was anything other than her mother's husband – going unanswered.

She was still young, only eighteen!

How many years would she have to spend in this place?

Materially, her life was, in some ways, more comfortable that it had been during the years she spent at Hatfield.

Hatfield was a far grander house by far, furnished more splendidly, its walls hung with expensive new tapestries but at Hatfield, she was a servant, even if she was given the more honourable title of maid-in-waiting and held a place that the daughters or noblemen vied for. She was obliged to wait on her little sister, should she require anything, and to yield precedence to little Elizabeth at all times, walking behind her in the corridors and never even allowed to leave a room before she did unless the toddler granted her permission to do so.

Lady Bryan's demeanour always made it plain that she considered Mary to be the lowest ranking of the ladies in attendance on the child she pointedly referred to as 'Princess Elizabeth' or 'the Princess' at all times, as the other ladies could at least claim legitimacy, and as the lowest-ranking of the ladies, the humblest chores were Mary's lot. She was always the one sent running to Elizabeth's playroom to fetch a toy she wanted, or to deliver an errand to one of the house servants and she was always obliged to walk near the tail end of the procession when she accompanied Elizabeth on one of her walks, or to Mass.

At the More, she was mistress of the house, at least nominally and while many of the members of her household treated her coolly, they still treated her with respect, obeying her instructions and showing themselves willing to accommodate any reasonable requests she might make but regardless of how polite they were, she couldn't forget that she was as much a prisoner as the unfortunate souls locked in the darkest, dankest dungeons in the Tower.

When she learned why she had been removed from Hatfield, why she had been dismissed as one of Elizabeth's attendants and banished to the More, she was horrified.

Surely her father couldn't believe that she would ever poison anybody, not even Anne!

Sir William and Lady Margaret were clearly under strict orders not to speak of the matter to her and when she peppered them with questions about the reason for her removal to the More during her first days here, her questions were met with cold, scornful looks that she couldn't understand, not until a slip of the tongue on her maid Susan's part revealed the truth.

Once Susan told her what she knew, her exile made so much more sense, as did the fact that prior to her removal, she was told by Lady Bryan that she was no longer to be allowed to tend to little Elizabeth and that she was to remain locked in her own chamber until further instructions came from the King.

They had thought that she would hurt her little sister if she was allowed to remain at Hatfield and allowed to continue to act as one of her attendants, a thought that was both painful and infuriating.

How dare they think such things of her!

Her custodians clearly believed every word they were told about her guilt and they were disgusted by what they saw as her pretence, her attempts to feign innocence in the hopes of evading a punishment they saw as more than deserved.

They would never believe her if she said that she had nothing to do with any attempt made to poison Anne – though, if Mary was honest with herself, she had to admit that she would have been far from sorry if such a plan proved to be successful.

She was sorry that such brave, loyal, devoted men as Chapuys and Brereton would have to pay the ultimate price for trying to restore her rights and she couldn't believe that her father thought so ill of her that he believed the lies he was told about her involvement, without even speaking to her about it or giving her a chance to refute the allegations made against her.

It was Anne's doing, she was sure of that.

Anne had always hated her and she was certainly unscrupulous enough to take advantage of the opportunity provided to her by Brereton's attempt on her life, and of the sympathy that Mary's father would undoubtedly have lavished on her afterwards, pitying her in her illness, especially given the fact that she was in a delicate condition, to fill his ears with poison about his daughter, convincing him that Mary was so wicked that she was prepared to commit murder to keep Anne from giving him the son he wanted so badly.

It was not enough for Anne that she had made sure that Mary was named a bastard, robbed of her rights as a princess and as her father's only true legitimate child and heir, not enough that she had secured Mary's rightful titles and inheritance for her own child, not enough that she had prevented her father from showing his daughter the love and affection he surely still felt towards her, not enough that she had broken her mother's heart and robbed her of the husband she loved and the titles that were hers by right, not enough that she had brought about Mary's mother's death through foul, evil, unnatural practices, now she had to persuade her father that she was a murderess, somebody who was prepared to go to any lengths to rid herself of a rival.

Even if she had tried to kill Anne, it would be no more than that witch deserved, Mary thought bitterly, brushing away the angry tears that coursed down her cheeks, despite her best efforts to keep them in check.

"I will write to my father, the King." Mary announced to Sir William as soon as she had made Susan tell her everything she knew. "I must let him know what happened."

"His Majesty does not wish to receive any letters from you, Lady Mary." Her chamberlain... her jailer told her in a severe tone. "He has given express orders that you are not to be permitted to receive any letters, from anybody, or to send any messages or to receive visitors without his express permission and that of his Privy Council."

Ignoring him, she marched back to her rooms, sitting down at her desk with parchment, quill and ink to write a letter to her father, assuring him that she had never known about any proposed attempt to poison his mistress, that she had not given her consent to any such attempt and that she never would have, even if the conspirators sought her out and begging him to allow her to come to court, or else to visit her at the More so that they could speak together and give her the opportunity to defend herself against the unjust charges.

Although she was well aware that she was forbidden to do so, that it was treason for her to do so and that the sight of it might make her father so angry that he wouldn't read what she had written, she signed the letter with her customary signature, unable to omit the title that was hers by right: Mary, Princess of Wales.

Once the letter was sealed, she brought it to Sir William's study, laying it on his desk and firmly instructing him to see that it was delivered to her father immediately.

He didn't glance at the letter, or even wait for her to leave the room before casting it on the fire.

* * *

Jane, Lady Rochford was not a member of the Queen's household but, as her sister-in-law, she was one of the few people outside Anne's ladies-in-waiting who were permitted to visit her, an opportunity she was pleased to take advantage of.

Anne didn't like her very much; Jane was under no illusions on that score. She had few women friends, preferring the company of her brother, the musician Smeaton, Thomas Wyatt and others of that witty, sophisticated circle but since she was confined to her bed, George was the only man of their circle allowed to visit and, while he was fond of his sister, he was not prepared to spend hours by her bedside every day, nor was any other man, even the King so, whether she liked it or not, Anne was mostly restricted to women for company, something Jane was absurdly thankful for.

She might not have been Anne's choice for a companion when she was well, especially since Jane was not as educated and did not share her interests in music or religion, but under the circumstances, she could tell that Anne appreciated her company, even if she rarely said so, and that she appreciated having a fresh face outside her usual household to speak to.

George doted on his younger sister, spending far more time with her than he did with his own wife... though even Anne couldn't compete with Smeaton for his time.

Jane hoped that if she could cultivate her sister-in-law's friendship, she would have the good will of the only woman in the world who could exercise any influence on George, somebody he would have to listen to when she warned him that his activities with Mark Smeaton were placing his immortal soul in jeopardy. If she had to, she could banish Smeaton from the court and keep him away from George.

Jane knew that she couldn't tell Anne about it now, not when she was with child. Anne loved her brother, and everybody knew that it was natural for a younger sister to idolize her older brother so it would be a huge shock to her, as it was for Jane when she first learned the truth. The Boleyn family would never forgive her if something she told Anne shocked her so much that the she lost the child she carried so Jane would have to wait until after the baby was born to speak to her about it. In the meantime, she could win Anne's friendship so that when the time came to tell her the truth, she would listen to what Jane had to say and believe her.

Anne was known to be devout, even if she was a reformer, and she had studied the Bible so she would know that if George insisted on continuing along the path he was treading, he would damn himself for all eternity.

Anne might be the only one who could help Jane save him.

The ladies of Anne's household were all gathered in the outer chamber when Jane was admitted to the apartment, each of them stitching at a tiny garment.

Mark Smeaton sat by the entrance to Anne's bedchamber, playing a soft, slow melody on his violin. He was the first to look up when Jane entered, giving her a slight smile and a nod of greeting as she entered but she refused to acknowledge the gesture, ignoring him entirely as she swept past him. She counted the ladies in the room and quickly established that all of Anne's household, even the midwife, Mistress Porter, were present and since she couldn't hear any voices from the bedchamber, it meant that Anne was alone.

She would have gone in, taking advantage of her family connection as a sister-in-law to enter without ceremony, but a hand on her arm stopped her.

"Don't," Mary Stafford, Jane's other sister-in-law, told her softly, her voice scarcely above a whisper. "Anne's sleeping and we mustn't wake her – or we'll be in trouble with Mistress Porter." She added lightly, leading Jane across the room to the cushioned window seat and sitting down, patting the space beside her invitingly. "How are you, Jane? I haven't seen much of you lately."

"No." Jane tried to keep the bitterness from her voice, smiling widely at Mary. Anne might have been glad enough of Jane's company earlier but since Mary had arrived, she was the one Anne wanted with her virtually all the time, which meant that Jane was able to see her only occasionally, interfering with her plan to secure her friendship. "I have been busy."

That was a lie.

With a husband who could scarcely be bothered to bid her 'good morning', let alone spend any time with her, and very few friends at court, Jane's days were very empty, especially since there were no masques or jousts or other diversions these days. If she had learned to play music when she was a young girl, she could have amused herself with that but she had not had the aptitude for it, which meant that most of her time was spent in the apartment she shared with George, occupying herself with needlework, mostly tiny garments intended for the coming prince.

She would have liked to be sewing baby clothes for a child of her own but given that her husband could barely tolerate her company for an hour, let alone a night, there was little chance of that.

"I was so surprised when I heard that George was married now," Mary remarked pleasantly, a warm smile on her face. "When we were children, he always swore that he would never marry. He was going to be a knight and go on a gallant crusade and he didn't think that he would be able to bring a wife with him for that. Of course, Anne disagreed with that," she chuckled a little at the memory of the then four- or five-year-old Anne's indignation at the idea that a girl could not be a warrior, "she thought that if she learned to use a sword, she would be able to fight just as well as George could – better – and she told him so in no uncertain terms. Our poor governess was horrified when she heard her. She looked as though she couldn't decide whether she should faint or wash Anne's mouth out with soap. I think she ended up doing both."

Jane smiled tightly, thinking that it would probably have suited George very well if he could go on a crusade somewhere, bringing Smeaton with him and leaving her behind. He would stay away for years if he could.

"I was sorry to have to miss the wedding," Mary continued wistfully, thinking about how much she had missed her siblings during her banishment. If she had been at court when Anne first started fretting about her husband's interest in Jane Seymour, would she have been able to keep her calm, to help her to cope with the knowledge that the King was unfaithful to her?

"I would have liked to be able to get to know you then." Jane responded politely, as if by rote, knowing that she was expected to say something like that and that she should not allude to the reason for Mary's absence from the wedding feast… even though it was part of the reason that the wedding took place in the first place.

After Mary disgraced herself and her family by secretly marrying a man who was far beneath her, Lord Wiltshire was determined to ensure that George would have no similar opportunity to provide him with a lowborn daughter-in-law so he decided to prevent that by choosing his son's bride for him and insisting that he marry straight away. He selected Jane, knowing that she was of good family and that he would never be ashamed to acknowledge her or her father as his relatives by marriage.

But for Mary, Jane might not be George's wife now.

The thought was enough to make her feel anger and dislike towards the elder of her sisters-in-law but she did not allow that to show, studying Mary's face closely and wondering if she too could prove to be helpful in convincing George of the error of his ways and encouraging him to return to his marriage and treat his wife kindly.

If he did, Jane would be willing to forget the hurts he caused her in the past and be a loving wife to him, a loving mother to their children.

George was not as close to Mary as he was to Anne but he was still fond of her, Jane knew that, and he was sorry when she was banished from court after her unsuitable marriage.

Maybe if Mary spoke to him, he would listen.

* * *

This could not continue.

The thought echoed in his mind as he walked with Jane, offering her his arm as courtesy demanded and listening politely, with every appearance of being interested as she spoke.

As always, Sir John and his son, Edward, walked behind them, their presence ensuring that no shadow could be cast over Jane's reputation and that nobody at court could spread malicious rumours about her, implying that theirs was a carnal relationship instead of a game of courtly love.

And it was a game.

He could see that.

He asked to serve her, as Lancelot had served Queen Guinevere all those centuries ago, and Jane had graciously allowed him to do so, had done him the honour of accepting his chaste love and devotion, favouring him with her company and her friendship but, while it appealed to the romantic in him, Henry couldn't deny that it was a game.

Theirs was a relationship with no future.

He was a married man, pledged to love and cherish Anne until the end of their days, and Jane was a chaste maiden. She was so pure that she would not wish to become his mistress and he knew that he could not insult her by asking her to. If he was unmarried and could offer her a true, honourable love, he told himself that he would make her his wife but he had a wife already.

It was just a game but while it had started out innocently, the game had started to have serious implications. Every man and woman at court knew that he favoured Jane, knew of their friendship and most of them could not understand the beauty of their pure, chaste love. Most of them assumed that if Jane were not already his mistress, she would be before much longer. They assumed that Jane was a loose woman and he was sure that they were mocking him behind his back, whispering amongst themselves that their King was a fool to believe that he could conceal the truth – or what they _believed_ to be the truth – from them with his pretence at maintaining a chaste relationship with Jane.

Both of their reputations were suffering and they would continue to suffer as long as the relationship continued.

And it was hurting Anne.

He could weather out the gossip, which would surely die down once Anne gave birth and was allowed to leave her bed and rejoin the court, after which the courtiers could see for themselves that his relationship with Jane did not mean that he was any less devoted to his wife but he could not deny, even to himself, that the game he was playing with Jane was hurting Anne and that was something for which there was no easy remedy.

Anne couldn't understand that while he might single Jane out for his attention and conversation, it did not affect his feelings towards her and it was not a threat to her place in his life. She couldn't understand that Kings took mistresses almost as a matter of course, that it was their right to divert themselves with a willing lady if they so chose and that it did not affect their feelings towards their Queens in any way. She loved him so much that it was natural that she would be jealous of any attention he paid to another woman. Knowing that, he had tried to shield her from the knowledge that he had taken a mistress by being as discreet as possible with his liaisons, ensuring that they took place outside the palace and even lying about his identity to one of the women he encountered so that no hint of gossip or scandal could reach Anne's ears.

Jane couldn't be hidden from her, not any more.

If he was still spending time with Jane when Anne was on her feet again, she would assume the worst and he wouldn't be able to convince her that there was nothing for her to worry about.

He would have to end it.

By the time their son was born and Anne was churched, Jane would have to either leave the court or else be safely married to a suitable husband.

He was so absorbed by his thoughts that he did not notice when Jane's pace quickened. He automatically began to walk more rapidly, to keep pace with her and did not notice that Sir John and Edward did not follow their example and that the distance between them was stretching, not until Jane turned slightly, leading him to stand behind one of the ornamental shrubs.

"Jane? What are you…"

He didn't have the chance to finish voicing his question before she stopped his mouth with a kiss, pressing her body against his as their lips met.

It was the first time that she had ever initiated one of their kisses.

Usually, he was the one to kiss her, asking for her leave before kissing her chastely on the cheek, occasionally the lips.

"I love you, Your Majesty." As soon as she blurted the words, Jane lowered her eyes, a faint blush rising to her cheeks at her forwardness. "Forgive me, I…"

"There's nothing to forgive." He assured her kindly, touched by her impulsive demonstration of affection.

As he leaned closer to her for a second kiss, he was so caught up in the moment that he didn't see Sir John and Edward catch up with them, didn't see the rather shocked expression on the face of the father, or the calm, appraising one on the face of the son as they watched.


	12. Chapter Eleven

**_1st June 1536_ **

When the King first asked to be allowed to serve her, Jane was deeply flattered, unable to believe that a man as powerful as he, a man who could have almost any woman at court for the asking, would turn his attention to her, coming as a supplicant and pleading for her favour, as though he was the subject and she was the monarch but, pleased as she was by his attention, she was unsure how best to respond.

From her early girlhood, she was taught that her maidenhead would be the most valuable part of the dowry she brought her future husband and that it, together with her reputation, must be preserved at all costs.

She would never have dreamed of becoming the mistress of an ordinary man, no matter how ardently he pursued her, but when the King was the man doing the wooing, it was rather a different matter. She didn't need to be reminded of the fact that for any courtier, her father and brothers included, the King's favour was their most valuable asset, their surest guarantee of prospering as he was always generous with those who pleased him.

One only needed to look to the Boleyn family for proof of this; since his younger daughter caught the King's eye, Thomas Boleyn had advanced further than most men at court would dare to dream, going from a mere knight, an ambassador in the King's service, to a viscount and then to earl, as well as being gifted with substantial land grants and entrusted with prominent, lucrative court appointments – all before his daughter ever became the King's wife. Jane's brother was already predicting that if the Queen produced a healthy son, her father would be a marquess, perhaps even a duke by the end of the year.

Some might be scornful over the fact that Boleyn owed his remarkable rise more to his daughter than to his own abilities, which were admittedly considerable, but nobody could deny how far he had come and, if they were honest with themselves, Jane suspected that many of the men at court would gladly have traded places with Boleyn if it was their daughter who caught the King's eye and held his attention for so long, allowing her family to reap the benefits of royal favour.

If she could follow Queen Anne's example, Jane knew that her family would not suffer for it.

That Edward advised that the King's affection should be carefully nurtured while cautioning her not to yield to the King's advances was no surprise; he was a clever man, a shrewd man who was always able to think three steps ahead, when others could barely see one, and while he was very conscious of the benefit that Jane and the whole family might derive from the King's favour, he also knew enough to know that the King, like many men, would quickly tire of something he was able to obtain too easily but that if she refused to yield, he would respect her for it and it would prolong his interest.

When her father mentioned that there would be many who would be pleased to see the Queen replaced, Jane could scarcely believe her ears.

It was flattering to be the recipient of the King's affections but there was a huge difference between that and supplanting his wife, becoming Queen of England in her stead and, for a moment, she was half-convinced that her father was pulling her leg when he mentioned the possibility. Even if the King was taken with her, even if he was no longer as in love with his wife as he once was, she couldn't believe that her father and brother expected him to set Anne aside for her sake.

Like everybody else in England and many people in Europe, Jane was aware of the lengths to which the King was prepared to go in order to marry Anne and of how long he had persevered to do so, against all odds. It was not her place to criticize the conduct of her monarch, of course, and even amongst themselves, the Seymour family said little about the affair, voicing neither approval nor disapproval of the King's Great Matter but although Jane never said so, she had not agreed with the King's decision to discard his wife.

Queen Katherine was a good woman, a kind woman and a woman of impeccable royal lineage, daughter of two monarchs and a princess twice over. Jane was too young to remember much about the King's ascension to the throne and his marriage to the Spanish princess just days afterwards but when she was older and heard the story, she thought that it was a romance worthy of ballads and fables. She was impressed by the King's chivalry in rescuing his brother's widow from isolation and penury and horrified when, years later, after so many years of loyal, loving marriage, the King decided to set his wife aside in favour of a virtual nobody, especially when it would mean that the Princess Mary would be made a bastard.

She was well aware that her education had been very lacking compared with that of some of the other ladies at court but Jane was not stupid.

The King might be right about the Biblical prohibition of a marriage between a man and his brother's widow and perhaps there was even a fault in the dispensation given for the union that justified the qualms of his conscience after so many years, but that wouldn't have mattered to him if Princess Mary was a son instead of a daughter and, more importantly, if he had not become infatuated with Anne Boleyn.

It was almost frightening to think of what he was prepared to do to marry Anne and, even if she disagreed with his actions, even if she would have loved to be Queen in Anne's stead and was sure that she would be a better wife to the King by far, and a better stepmother to Princess Mary, Jane couldn't believe that the King would set her aside.

After everything that had happened in order to allow them to marry, after all of the good people who had suffered or even died to ensure that their union was lawful and the children born of it were accepted as legitimate, surely the King knew that he would look like a changeable fool if he decided to discard Queen Anne in her turn!

Edward was patient as he explained it to her, pointing out that since Queen Katherine's death, one of two things would happen to Queen Anne. If the King continued to want her as his wife, then he would insist that she be acknowledged as such by the other rulers in Europe and it was likely that they would agree to this if they wished to secure King Henry's friendship, which, in turn, would strengthen her position in England. However, if the King decided to discard her, he would have little difficulty in doing so since there would be very few people who would be prepared to stand against him on Anne's behalf and once he was free of her, his next marriage would be accepted as true and valid.

He believed that there was a chance that Jane could be the King's next bride but not if she yielded too quickly and became his mistress.

Like Queen Katherine before her, Anne's position hinged on the birth of a healthy son and heir. If she had a son, then the King could not say that their marriage was invalid and rid himself of her because to do so would be to make the boy a bastard, ineligible to succeed his father. While Jane believed that Anne would be justly served if she, the reason for Princess Mary being declared illegitimate, had to watch while her own children were branded with the name of 'bastard' in their turn, this was only a risk as long as little Elizabeth remained her only living child.

Once a prince was born, she would be safe and Jane's hopes would have to be forgotten. The King would once again direct all of his love towards Anne, who would be the only woman in his world.

He might even order her away her from court altogether, at a moment's notice. She was brought there in her capacity as a lady-in-waiting to Anne and she had been dismissed from her position in her household so there was no reason for her to remain at court, except for the fact that she had his favour and that would not last forever.

She was already losing him to Anne.

Kissing him was an impulsive act on her part, almost an act of desperation.

She was so careful to behave chastely before that, knowing how important it was that she not yield, that she present a picture of maidenly modesty. The knowledge of the gossip circulating about her was even more of an incentive to ensure that her conduct was above reproach and that she was always accompanied by a chaperone when she was with the King but, as she sensed him drifting further and further away from him, knowing that his quiet, pensive moods were an indication that it was Anne and not she who occupied his thoughts, she had to do something, anything to draw his attention back to her.

He was surprised when she kissed him but it clearly did not displease him, nor did the other liberties she began to allow him; more kisses and embraces, walks together without her father or brother present and several dinners alone.

He was noticeably more cheerful as a result and, despite Edward's warnings and pleas for her to be careful, at least until Anne's baby was born and they had a better idea of how the land lay, Jane wanted to continue to make him happy.

Even if she could not be his Queen, to have his love was no small thing.

She was sure that that could be enough for her.

She didn't tell her brother of her plans because she knew that he would warn her not to proceed, maybe even forbid it outright. She didn't tell her father because she knew that it would worry him and because she knew that he believed her to be virtuous and modest and she didn't want to disappoint him.

She only told the King, asking an audience with him and waiting until they were alone before hurrying to his side, whispering something in his ear and watching the emotions playing across his face as he registered what she had said; astonishment, disbelief and finally pleasure.

When he turned to look at her, his smile was wider than she had ever seen it.

* * *

As sympathetic as she was over Anne's condition, it didn't keep Mary from feeling impatient with her sister when her mood and behaviour shifted from mildly irritating to downright exasperating.

Although their father had feared that Anne would rebel against the restrictions imposed on her, complaining to her husband about her boredom and frustration or, worse still, refusing to obey the directions of the physician and midwife regarding her diet and routine, this had not happened and it was to Anne's credit that she had coped with her four months of confinement as well as she had.

However, despite her previous good behaviour, she seemed to be determined to make up for it today by being as tiresome as she could possibly be, refusing to touch her breakfast, ignoring Mistress Porter's attempts to coax or intimidate her into eating something, demanding that the windows be opened, even though she was warned that she could catch a chill and insisting that she was sick of being cooped up in her bedchamber and that she wanted to be brought in to the outer room to sit with her ladies.

Her demands were ignored, of course. No matter how angry Anne became, no matter how many times she ordered her ladies to obey her or threatened them with dismissal from her household and banishment from court if they refused, nobody would dare to flout Dr Linacre's orders for her care, in case the child she carried was harmed and they were blamed for giving in to her.

Although she could imagine how frustrated Anne was and how difficult these past months had been for her, Mary was still very tempted to slap her when her behaviour became even more unreasonable. Had they been alone, she might have shaken her to try to bring her to her senses but, as it was, she had to content herself with coaxing and reassurances that it would not be much longer now, and when these had no effect, she eventually left the room altogether, giving Anne some time alone to get herself under control.

Surprisingly, Mistress Porter did not seem unduly troubled by Anne's volatile mood, calmly refusing her imperious demands and remarking that she was restless. She gave orders to Madge Shelton and Nan Saville to fetch a supply of clean linens and dispatched another lady to Dr Linacre with a message before departing on an errand of her own, leaving Anne in her sister's charge, something Mary was not especially pleased with. Mistress Porter could exert a modicum of control over Anne but she was the only one.

In addition to her sister's fretful, angry mood, Mary also had her sister-in-law trailing after her like a puppy, scarcely giving her a moment of peace. That Jane wanted to say something was plain. She had begun to speak several times before but snapped her mouth shut before any words could escape her lips. Eventually, Mary became thoroughly fed up of Jane's procrastination and spoke herself.

"Is something wrong, Jane?" Despite her irritation, Mary managed to keep her tone friendly and gentle as she spoke, knowing that if Jane did have something on her mind, she wasn't going to get anywhere with her by being brusque and impatient.

Jane gazed at her for a few moments, debating over how much she should say, or if she should even speak at all but she knew that if she did not take advantage of the opportunity to speak now, she might never have the courage to do so again. Not wanting to be overheard, she drew Mary into a far corner of the room, out of the earshot of the other ladies and from Mark Smeaton, who was playing a soft, soothing melody on his violin in the hopes of settling Anne down, and spoke in a hissed whisper.

"It's George, he…" She trailed off, her courage faltering at the thought that she was speaking to George's _sister_ about it and that Mary could easily take offence if she felt that her beloved brother was being insulted.

"What is it?" Mary pressed kindly, though she could hazard a guess as to what had Jane so upset. She and George had never been as close as George was to Anne but Mary was still well aware of her brother's reputation for having flings with women at the court and she knew him well enough to know that it was very unlikely that having a wife now would be enough to get him to change his ways, something he had in common with many other husbands, including the King. She was deeply thankful for the fact that her Will had never strayed. "Is… is there another woman?"

"I wish there was!" Jane exclaimed before quickly lowering her voice, uncomfortably aware of the fact that the other ladies, who were keeping their eyes firmly fixed on their needlework, never glancing upwards, were probably dying of curiousity, wondering what it was they were talking about. She bit her lower lip to keep her tears from flowing. "I could accept it if he had other women but he doesn't, it's much worse than that."

Mary was both alarmed by Jane's tone and puzzled by her meaning. She wouldn't have been surprised to learn that George had a mistress but it seemed that this was not the case. George's other vices, like gambling and wine, were common enough, especially at court where many of the men, particularly the younger ones, had little else with which to occupy their time and she didn't think that they could cause Jane such distress. She also couldn't believe that George was the kind of man who would beat his wife but she knew that even if this was the case, there was nothing that could be done. Even the gentlest men at court wouldn't deny that it was a husband's right to chastise his wife as he saw fit. She waited for Jane to continue, not saying a word. She didn't know what she could say.

"My husband has forsaken my bed," Jane began slowly, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she spoke, "but not for another woman."

The stress placed on the last word was plain and Mary gasped in horror at the unmistakeable implication. "No!"

"It's true." Jane insisted quietly. "He doesn't even deny it!"

"Who…" The question was spoken automatically but Mary didn't think that she wanted to know. Jane didn't respond verbally but she looked across the room and Mary followed her gaze, which fixed on Mark Smeaton. As though aware of their gaze, he glanced up to meet their eyes for a moment before returning his attention to his music.

"You see?" Jane commented bitterly. "He doesn't even have the grace to be ashamed of his perversions!"

Mary barely heard her. She remembered her encounter with Mark in France, and the conversation she had had with him played over and over in her mind.

_"Mistress Boleyn!" Seeing her sitting by herself, Mark Smeaton took the opportunity to sit by her side, his tone amiable as he spoke."You must be so excited to be back in France, after all your little adventures here."_

_That was a polite way to describe her activities during her stay in France, activities that had earned her several less than flattering nicknames, and Mary adopted a mock-chiding tone and expression as she responded, not offended in the least by his words. Accustomed to sly glances and pointed innuendos, it was a welcome relief to have someone speak openly with her. "Tut, Mark!" She reproved him teasingly. "You ought to remember that I'm still in mourning for my poor husband."_

_William Carey, the man that her father and the King had found for her, a man of more money than sense but who was eager for the King's favour, happy to marry his cast-off mistress when he was asked to do so and to accept the land grants he was awarded for his co-operation._

_"Well, I wouldn't have called him poor," Mark quibbled at once. "Dull, certainly."_

_Mary laughed at that, unable to deny the truth of his words. William was kind enough, something she was thankful for as it meant that he never reproached her for the fact that she hadn't come to their marriage bed a virgin, as many other men would have, but even his dearest friend couldn't have called him an interesting man._

_"And impotent." She added, unable to resist the urge to add that little tit-bit; as a widow, she could surely no longer be expected to guard her husband's reputation._

_"Really?" Initially, Mark seemed a little taken aback by so personal a confidence but he took it in his stride._

_"I can't wait to ride some young French stallion while I'm here." If her father could have heard her, he would have been furious with her, not because of her intentions but because her voicing them aloud risked drawing attention to the rest of the family and exposing them to embarrassment and scorn but her father wasn't paying any attention to her tonight. As usual, Anne was occupying his attention and he was far too busy with his youngest daughter to be bothered with what his elder daughter was saying or doing._

_Mark followed her gaze, looking at some of the French men who had caught her eye before turning back to her. "Well, between you and me, neither can I."_

They had laughed it off as a joke, even though Mary suspected that there was a lot of truth to Mark's words. She wasn't unduly troubled about it at the time. She and Anne had virtually grown up at the court of the King of France, ever since their father was appointed as ambassador and decided to remove his daughters from the court of the Archduchess Margaret, where they were placed as children for their education, and bring them to live with him in France, securing them places as ladies-in-waiting to Queen Claude when they were old enough. The French court's reputation for licentiousness was not undeserved and Mary was aware that some of the liaisons were between two men or between two women but even in France, it was not something to be spoken of and in England, it was much worse.

If George's affair with Smeaton was discovered, he would be ruined and, unlike Mary's marriage to Will, his indiscretion would not be forgiven, under any circumstances.

At best, he would be exiled from the court, their father would disown and disinherit him and he would be left to make his own way in the world, as best he could.

At worst, he might be executed for it.

Gripping Jane's hand tightly, Mary spoke in a hissed whisper. "If I can help you, I will but until then, whatever you do, don't breathe a word of this to…" A piercing shriek echoed through the room and Mary whirled around, knowing the source of the cry. "…Anne."

With Jane and the other ladies following hard on her heels, she ran into the bedchamber, where Anne was groaning in pain, kicking at the heavy bedclothes.

"The baby's coming!" She announced as soon as the pain receded a little. "Get Mistress Porter and the other midwives – hurry!"

Madge Shelton hurried to obey her while Mary moved to support Anne, motioning for Jane to go to her other side.

"Are you sure, Anne?" Mary queried gently, smoothing her sister's hair away from her forehead. "It's not another false alarm? If you have a fourth one, people will start to think you're doing it deliberately to get attention." She teased but her attempt at humour fell flat.

Anne shook her head vehemently, pushing feebly at the bedclothes.

Guessing what she was trying to do, Jane pulled back the coverlet, revealing a sheet soaked with fluid and glancing back up at Mary. "It's not a false alarm."

* * *

As soon as she told her father that Anne's child was on its way, nothing would satisfy him but that he should be the first person to tell the King of the impending arrival of his son so Mary found herself being all but dragged along to his apartments, with George following close behind them.

"How much longer do you think it will be?" Boleyn demanded as they hurried through the corridors, their haste attracting a good deal of attention from other courtiers as they passed.

"I don't know, Father," Mary responded, feeling slightly breathless. Her tightly laced gown was not designed to allow its wearer to run easily. "Mistress Porter thinks that it might be a quick birth. Anne's pains are coming very quickly and they're very strong so…"

"So it will be soon." He finished for her, far less interested in Anne's suffering in childbed than he was in his hoped-for grandson. He smiled in satisfaction. "I will be grandfather to the next King of England."

"If it's a boy." Mary pointed out. For Anne's sake, she usually spoke of the baby as 'he' in her hearing, knowing how important it was that she didn't fret about the child's sex, for fear that the worry would harm her or the baby she carried but now that the birth was imminent, she couldn't help but be concerned about what would happen if, after all the trouble taken to ensure Anne's safe delivery, her child was another daughter.

The King had treated Anne very gently of late, especially since Brereton's unsuccessful attempt to murder her, which had roused his most protective instincts towards her, but she could not deny that he would be disappointed by the arrival of a second daughter and that he was likely to show his feelings. He had had so much trouble securing little Elizabeth's place as his heir ahead of her older half-sister that he might consider another girl proof that his marriage to Anne should be ended.

"It must be a boy." Her father told her firmly. "For Anne's sake and ours."

When they reached the door to the King's private chambers, two sentries blocked their path.

"We must see His Majesty immediately." Boleyn announced imperiously. "We have important news for him, news that he will want to hear without delay."

It was plain from the expression on the sentries' faces that they could guess the news that the Queen's family needed to carry to the King – like everybody else at court, they would have been counting the days on their fingers, anticipating Anne's expected date of delivery – and one of them winced slightly as he responded, looking as though he'd much rather not be the one to have to tell them this.

"His Majesty has left the palace, my lord."

"What?" Mary couldn't believe her ears. After all the weeks and months of anxious waiting, it seemed utterly incredible that the King – Anne's _husband_ – should have absented himself from the palace at such a time. Surely he knew that his child could be born any day now! What could be important enough to drag him away at a time like this?

"When did he leave?" Boleyn asked sharply. "And who was he with?"

"His Majesty left this morning, to go hunting." Brandon spoke up from behind them, sparing the sentry the discomfort of having to answer this question. His expression was malicious as he fixed his gaze on Boleyn, far from displeased to know that the other man would be decidedly unhappy to hear what he had to say. "He wanted to enjoy a quiet day, so he only brought a few grooms to attend him… and Lady Jane accompanied him, of course." He could see from the expressions on the Boleyns' faces that all three of them could guess what Henry was up to and that it had nothing to do with hunting. "Was it something important?" He asked in a mock-innocent tone.

"The Queen's labour has begun." Boleyn stated flatly, scowling at the other man. Anne once alleged that Brandon was doing all he could to bring pretty young women to the King's notice in the hopes of luring him away from her and while he didn't think that Henry needed to be encouraged to stray, he was inclined to think that she was right that Brandon was more than willing to help him in his affairs, hoping that by cultivating his feelings for a mistress, he would weaken Anne's position.

Let him try!

Once Anne's son was born, her position would be safe and, in his joy over the birth of a male heir, the King was bound to be willing to give her whatever she asked for.

Then people who set themselves against the Boleyns would know that they had been fools to do so and Brandon would be the biggest fool of all, because he had once been their ally and, had he had the sense to remain loyal instead of making himself their enemy, he too would have benefited from the prince's birth.

Although he had anticipated something like this based on the expressions on their faces, Brandon still hoped that they were mistaken; after all, Anne had had three false alarms over the past couple of weeks, each of them sending the court into a flurry of excitement at the thought that the prince was on his way and each of them coming to nothing.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes." Mary spoke up curtly, frowning at him, wondering if he had any comprehension of the distress it caused Anne to know that her husband was straying while she was in a delicate condition and to know that the courtiers who were supposed to be loyal to her as their Queen were deliberately setting out to undermine her.

"We are certain that His Majesty would want to be here for his son's birth, so that he can see him as soon as he is born." Boleyn remarked smoothly. "He might be put out if he learns that he has missed it."

There was a great deal of truth to what he was saying and Brandon nodded acknowledgement of his words. "He would want to be here." He remarked, more to himself than to any of them.

"I agree, Your Grace." Boleyn responded coolly. "So perhaps somebody should be sent to let him know what is happening."

Again, Brandon couldn't argue with what Boleyn was saying but there was another problem… "His Majesty did not tell anybody where he was planning on going to… hunt." He finished lamely. Henry had not told him where he was going to be taking Jane and if he had not told him, he would not have told anybody else.

Nobody knew better than Brandon how many little hideaways Henry had in the surrounding countryside, some quite close to the palace and others much further away, depending on how discreet he wanted to be about a particular affair. Since he was with Jane Seymour, he would probably want to err on the side of discretion, for the sake of preserving her reputation as much as possible but if Henry had gone where Brandon thought, it was around a two-hour ride away and he would not be happy if a search party was to turn up on the doorstep of his private retreat.

He would have to go in person, alone.

"I will see that His Majesty is informed." He said at last, mentally combing through a list of close, trusted friends who could be relied upon to be discreet if they were enlisted to help search for the missing monarch. He could go to the hideaway himself but just in case Henry wasn't where Brandon thought he was, people would have to be sent to other possible locations.

"Very well, Your Grace," Boleyn said in chilly tones. "We will leave it in your hands." Brandon needed no second prompting to hurry away and once he was safely out of earshot, Boleyn led his son and daughter away from the sentries, giving them their instructions in hushed tones. "George, you find out where Brandon is searching but don't go with him, wait for the King to return. I want to know the moment he gets back to the palace." George nodded comprehension, hurrying off in the same direction as Brandon, leaving Mary alone with her father. "As for you, get back to your sister, she's going to need you with her at this time. Mary," he caught her sleeve before she could move away, fixing her with a stern look, "Anne is not to know about this."

"I would never tell her something like this." Mary assured him, a definite note of scorn in her tone; did he really think that she was stupid or heartless enough to say something like that to Anne, especially at a time like this? "But if the King isn't back in time to see his son as soon as he's born, I won't have to. She's going to notice."

* * *

Even on his fastest horse, Brandon knew that the round trip would take three hours at the very minimum and if Henry needed time to dress before riding out, which was very probable, then it would take even longer for them to get back.

He should have known that Anne could be trusted to choose the most inconvenient time to give birth to her child.

On each of the three occasions when there was a false alarm, Henry was in the palace, ready to run to her side the moment the physician and midwife gave him permission to enter her chamber but now that the baby was truly on its way, he was gone, possibly far enough away to ensure that he would not be able to make it back to the palace in time.

At this thought, Brandon spurred his horse on, urging it to greater speed.

He was not worried about the fact that Anne would be hurt by the knowledge that her husband was lying with another woman while she was struggling to bring their child into the world; as far as he was concerned, a few painful lessons would benefit Anne enormously but Henry was a different story. Once he knew what was happening, he would feel guilty that he wasn't there for Anne and his guilt was likely to turn to anger, anger that would be directed at those he perceived as being responsible for keeping him away.

Jane Seymour might find herself on the receiving end of his anger, as might Brandon himself.

Leaning forward, he urged his horse to ride faster, hoping that he would make it in time.

* * *

Anne found herself very thankful for the presence of her sister and her sister-in-law, who sat on either side of her, each of them holding one of her hands while her pains came, far faster and far harder than they had with Elizabeth.

"Just take some nice deep breaths, that's a good girl," Mary coached her, "you're being so brave."

"It's almost time now, Your Majesty," Mistress Porter told her, motioning for one of the midwives brought in to assist her to pass her a linen towel to spread underneath Anne's hips.

Dr Linacre was not present but he was waiting just outside Anne's quarters; childbirth was women's business so, for the time being, Mistress Porter was presiding over the delivery, assisted by another two midwives and by Anne's ladies-in-waiting but, to be on the safe side, Linacre was outside and ready to come in at a moment's notice if there were any complications that they couldn't cope with by themselves and his assistance was needed.

"It hurts!" Anne wailed as another wave of pain, the strongest yet, washed over her and she clung tightly to Mary and Jane's hands, barely aware of their gentle, encouraging words.

Jane's eyes were wide as she watched the other women bustling back and forth, gently squeezing Anne's hand in return, rubbing slow circles on the back of her hand with her thumb, amazed by what she was seeing.

Before her marriage, her mother made sure to explain the basics of her marital duties and of childbirth to her, so that she would be prepared when her time came, warning her that it was a woman's lot to endure pain in childbirth, a punishment for the sins of their ancestress, Eve, but her mother's lectures couldn't have prepared her for this.

How could a mother go through such pain bringing her child into the world without resenting it afterwards?

"I can see the head crowning!" Mistress Porter's tone was one of mingled relief and satisfaction as she made her announcement. Although she was aware that almost everybody in England, from the King himself to poor labourers, was hoping and praying for a boy, the sex of the child was in God's hands and His alone. He would give the Queen a son or a daughter, as He saw fit. It was her job to ensure that, boy or girl, the child was born strong and healthy and that its mother came through her ordeal alive and whole. "I need you to breathe deeply and push as hard as you can." She instructed firmly.

Another of the midwives massaged the swell of Anne's stomach as she pushed and all of the women in the room waited with bated breath for the moment of truth, when the child was born and they knew if it was dead or alive, a son or a daughter, each of them knowing how important this birth was for their mistress and for England.

"You can do this, Anne." Mary said encouragingly, using a damp cloth to wipe the perspiration from her sister's forehead, hoping to cool her down a little. "Not much longer now."

"Just a few more, Your Majesty." Mistress Porter told her, easing the child into the world as Anne pushed. "One big push now." Anne's abdomen contracted and, with a final push, she expelled the baby into the world and into the midwife's waiting arms.

Usually, she had to deliver a quick, stinging slap to a baby's buttocks to get it to cry but there was no need for Mistress Porter to do that this time.

The baby wailed at the full pitch of what were clearly an exceptionally healthy pair of lungs as soon as it felt the first touch of the cool air, its indignation at being thrust from its warm, snug haven and into the wide world plain, its bellows leaving no doubt that it was a strong child. It screamed as it was warmly wrapped, first in finely woven linen, with a soft woollen blanket over that. It screamed as the afterbirth was expelled and the cord connecting it to the placenta was cut. It screamed as Mistress Porter rocked it in her arms for a moment, examining it for signs of deformities and breathing a sigh of relief when she saw that it was as sound as any infant could hope to be, with all of its limbs and tiny fingers and toes intact and correct.

"What is it?" Anne demanded, ignoring the warnings to lie still and rest and struggling into a sitting position, frightened by the fact that nobody had mentioned the child's sex. When Elizabeth was born, they hadn't told her that she was a girl straight away, all of them knowing that the news would come as a blow and not wanting to be the first person to say it. When nobody answered, she repeated her question again, more loudly and more insistently this time. She had to know. "What is it? Tell me!"

For answer, Mistress Porter approached, smiling more widely than Anne had ever seen her as she showed her the swaddled infant. Her words were barely audible over the baby's screaming. "Your Majesty, allow me to introduce you to your son."

"My son..." Anne could scarcely believe her ears, could scarcely believe that the baby boy she had hoped and prayed for for so long, the baby boy that Henry longed for, was finally here. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she half-laughed and half-sobbed with relief, holding out her arms to take the baby. "I want to hold him."

Mistress Porter hesitated, reluctant to turn the baby over to his mother, who was clearly exhausted, both physically and emotionally, by the ordeal of childbirth and by the months of worry leading up to the birth. "I'm not sure that it would be a good idea, Your Majesty..." She began but Anne cut her off.

"I want to hold him." She repeated stubbornly. "Give him to me. Now!"

Deciding that it was better not to argue with her, Mistress Porter waited until Anne had been carefully propped up with pillows, settled into the most comfortable position possible so that her pain would be manageable, then she gently placed the wailing bundle in her waiting arms and took half a step back, wanting to make sure that she was close at hand in case Anne's grip on the baby faltered.

As soon as the baby boy was settled in his mother's arms, his screaming stopped abruptly and he opened his eyes, which had been tightly screwed shut until now, an almost quizzical expression on his face as he studied Anne. His eyes were blue but they were of a darker, smokier blue than Anne's eyes, or Elizabeth's and the fine, silky hair on his delicate skull was dark brown.

"You did it, Anne." Mary said softly, awed by the sight of her new nephew, unable to believe that somebody so tiny would one day rule England. "He's beautiful. I think that he's going to look a lot like the King."

"The living image of his father." Anne murmured, half-afraid that she would wake up and find that these past months had all been a dream, that she had truly lost him that day in January. As though he could sense her doubts, the baby in her arms caught her index finger in one of his tiny, dimpled hands, squeezing it as tightly as he could, as though he wanted to reassure her than he was here, that he was alive and whole.

"And he's stopped crying." Jane remarked.

"He knows his mother." Mistress Porter commented, bending down to tuck the blanket more closely around the baby.

Anne didn't even hear them, her attention focused instead on her son, who was quiet as she cradled him, cooing contentedly in her arms.

It was as if he knew that he belonged there.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**_1st June 1536_ **

Henry's horse had been able to rest for several hours while he and Jane were together so he had no trouble matching, even exceeding Brandon's speed as they rode back to Whitehall as fast as they possibly could, hoping against hope that they would be back in time.

Even if his marriage to Katherine had never been a true one, they had still lived together as husband and wife for many years, years during which Katherine conceived seven children. Only two of those children were born alive and of those two, only one child, their daughter, survived infancy but the seven pregnancies had taught Henry a great deal about the mysteries of childbirth, more than most men knew or wanted to know.

Babies, particularly first babies, were often slow in coming, and their mother might suffer a full day or more as she struggled to bring it into the world but on other occasions, their arrival could be a sudden one, happening so rapidly that the preparations for the delivery were barely complete when the baby was born.

If Brandon was right, the midwives had indicated that Anne's labour might be a short one and once their son was born, Anne would expect him to come to her immediately, so that he could greet the new little prince at the earliest possible opportunity. If he did not appear, she would know that he was not in the palace when her labour began and she would suspect that he was with Jane while she suffered to give him the son she knew he craved more than anything, the son she hoped to give him.

And she would be right.

Henry could not deny that, not even to himself, even though he wanted to.

If Anne had suspicions about him and Jane, those suspicions would be fully justified. Their friendship was no longer a chaste, honourable one, one that neither he or Jane would ever have cause to be ashamed of or to feel that they had to hide and one that Anne would have no reasonable grounds to complain of.

He would never allow Anne or anybody else to deny that it was his right to take a mistress if he so chose, especially when his wife was in carrying a child and he could not lie with her, for the sake of her health and the child's – what kind of man would he be if he was willing to risk them both just to satisfy his own desires? – but somehow, this seemed different, worse than any of his dalliances with his mistresses.

Maybe it was because he had not begun his friendship with Jane with the intention of bedding her, Henry mused as he rode. He had intended that their connection would be a true, chaste and honest one and while it had started out that way, while he had done everything he could to ensure that he would not give way to temptation by having Jane's family present for their all of their meetings before today, he couldn't call it that, not now.

Before, he could have said that Anne was wronging him by suspecting that he was betraying her and bedding Jane, when all they were doing was sharing an innocent, harmless friendship, only walking together, dining together a few times and conversing together. He could have said that she was wronging Jane, a sweet, innocent maiden, by doubting her virtue and by inviting others to do the same by voicing her suspicions in their hearing.

He couldn't say that to _himself_ anymore but he could hope to keep the truth from Anne, at least for the moment. The secrecy was not for his sake, he told himself firmly, so firmly that he believed it to be true, it was for _Anne's_ sake. He knew that the knowledge that he had been with another woman would be painful for her and that it would be even more painful for her to know that they were together while she was bringing their child into the world.

If he could spare her the pain that that knowledge would bring her, he would.

"We should be back at the palace soon, Your Majesty," Brandon told him, slightly breathless from the hard ride, both to bring the news to Henry and to accompany him back to the palace.

Henry felt a surge of gratitude towards his friend, happy to know that he was a man he could rely on.

Brandon was a good man and a true friend, one of the few men at court who could be trusted to behave discreetly with regard to a matter like this one. Other courtiers, including some who professed devotion to Henry as King and love for him as a friend, would have been happy to be the one to go on this errand but just as happy to speak of it to others at the earliest possible opportunity, betraying his confidence in the hopes of winning favour or even because they could not bear to keep so intriguing a tit-bit to themselves and had to share the gossip. Brandon, on the other hand, would never breathe a word of what he had seen and would never even mention it to Henry when they spoke privately, at least not without Henry bringing up the subject first and inviting conversation on the matter.

Jane's suggestion had surprised him almost as much as it had pleased him and he understood that she was nervous about it, not only was she an innocent maiden, about to lie with a man for the first time in her life, she was also afraid that her reputation and prospects would suffer if it became public knowledge.

He would never allow any woman to suffer for being his mistress, of course. Lady Blount's husband was made an earl and given lands and estates when she bore his first son to survive his infancy, little Henry Fitzroy, to ensure that he would not carry out his threat to force her into a nunnery for the rest of her days, a fate Henry knew that she would have hated above virtually all others. With Mary Boleyn, he and her father had chosen William Carey as her husband when their time together ended and Henry compensated him generously for taking her as his wife, knowing Carey to be a kind man who would never dream of reproaching her for her past. If Norris had not expressed an interest in Madge Shelton, he would have seen to it that a good husband was found for her too.

If Jane wanted to marry, he would make sure that she was at least as well-married as she would have been had she stayed a virgin her entire time at court and if her father could not provide her with a suitable dowry, Henry would be more than happy to make up the shortfall, to ensure that she was well-provided for.

However, that was for the future; for the moment, it was more important to protect Jane's current reputation. He didn't want her be gossiped about at court, ridiculed and labelled with unkind names when her only crime was to love him, not as a King but as a man, so he made sure that they were as discreet as they could possibly be.

The hunting lodge was far enough away from Whitehall and from the city to ensure that they would not be disturbed and it was small and, outwardly at least, plain enough not to attract the notice of anybody who might be passing or to arouse their curiousity about who could be living there. The few servants installed in the lodge were discreet and knew that they should quietly slip away once they had lit a fire in the great carved fireplace and served them with wine and food to refresh themselves after their long ride, just as the two grooms who accompanied them to ensure their safety knew to make themselves scarce once they arrived.

The bedchamber, the only room in the small lodge that could be described as either large or richly furnished, was always kept in readiness.

Brandon knew about it, and knew him well enough to know that this was the place where he was most likely to come with Jane, something Henry was deeply thankful for under the circumstances as it meant that he was able to get there as soon as possible.

He had not liked leaving Jane behind but he had no alternative. Speed was of the essence and they could not delay for a lady's pace. He and Brandon would ride ahead together while the two grooms followed with Jane, escorting her back to the palace, protecting her on the journey and helping her to slip back inside unnoticed.

If only Jane could have chosen her time better! Henry thought as he rode, irritation seeping into his feelings towards her. While he reproached himself inwardly for agreeing to her suggestion when he knew how close Anne was to her time and that babies were no respecters of the prior arrangements of others when it came to the moment they chose to arrive, Jane also knew that the baby might arrive any day, everybody at court was counting the days on their fingers, anticipating the happy event.

If only she could have made her suggestion a week ago, or waited until after the baby was born!

There was no way to judge the time except by the position of the sun but it seemed to Henry as though they had been riding for many hours when Brandon spoke, assuring him that they would be there soon, and all that he could think about was whether he would manage to get there in time.

The sight of the palace up ahead was one of the most welcome he had ever seen in his life and he spurred his horse on, encouraging him to increase his pace as they made their way up to road towards the palace, pulling him to a halt once they entered the courtyard and jumping down from the saddle, handing the reins over to a groom.

Thomas Boleyn was down to greet him a heartbeat later, a wide smile on his face as he hastened towards him, moving far more quickly than one might have expected from a man of his years.

"It's a son, Your Majesty!" He announced jubilantly. "A healthy son!"

Time seemed to slow down and Henry didn't dare to believe his ears, half-afraid that his senses were playing tricks on him, telling him what he wanted to hear but as the words penetrated his mind and he saw the delight that was written all over his father-in-law's face, knowing that such joy could never be feigned, he laughed in delight and relief, impulsively embracing the other man before releasing him, wringing his hand and thanking him, over and over again, for the wonderful news he had brought.

He had a son.

He had a son!

It had taken him many years but he had a son now, an heir to follow him as King, to ensure the survival of the fledgling Tudor dynasty and to continue his work, and his father's. He had finally done his duty and given England the heir he owed it.

"When was the Prince born?" Brandon asked quickly, reminding Henry of the reason for their hasty ride and dimming his delight slightly as he remembered his fear that he would not be back before Anne had time to wonder why he had not come to see her and their son or to begin to suspect the reason for his absence.

"Not half an hour ago, Your Majesty," Boleyn said, addressing his words to Henry, even though it was Brandon who had asked the question. "We thought it best to wait for you before giving the order that the bells should be rung to announce the news," he added, "and the midwives and ladies are tending to the Queen, to ready her to receive visitors." He hinted as heavily as he dared, knowing as well as Henry did that Anne would be anxious to see him.

"The bells should be rung at once." Henry ordered firmly. "And food and wine should be distributed to the people, and celebrations arranged for them as well as for the court." It was the people's celebration too; every man, woman and child in England was surely longing to hear this news, to know that there was a prince in the royal nursery, a healthy boy who would be King in his turn, the wise, noble ruler they needed, the ruler they deserved. "I will go to see the Queen now – and I will bring Princess Elizabeth with me." He added impulsively.

Anne would want to see their daughter as soon as possible, little Elizabeth would want to meet her new baby brother at the earliest possible opportunity and if he had to stop by the nursery to fetch the toddler and wait while she was prepared for the visit, it would explain why he was late.

Lady Bryan was reading when he entered the suite of rooms designated as Elizabeth's nursery when she visited the court and she sprang to her feet when she realized who her visitor was, dropping a deep curtsey and keeping her eyes lowered.

"Your Majesty, I..." She sounded flustered as she spoke, clearly surprised by his sudden arrival but he ignored her, hurrying straight into the bedchamber, where Elizabeth was dozing on the bed, bending down to kiss his daughter's petal-soft cheek and squeezing her hand gently to rouse her.

"Papa?" Elizabeth murmured sleepily when she opened her blue eyes to see him looking down at her.

"Yes, sweetheart." He stroked her cheek with a gentle finger, smiling widely. "I have a surprise for you; your baby brother has come."

"God be praised." Lady Bryan said devoutly from behind him. "It was the most welcome news that I could have heard, Your Majesty. I would have told the Princess straight away but she was having her afternoon sleep and I thought it best not to disturb..." She trailed off, not wanting him to think that she was criticizing his decision to wake the child or to take offence at a perceived rebuke.

Fortunately for her, Henry wasn't listening to her. Elizabeth was still fully dressed, wearing a pretty, pale green gown, so after Lady Bryan combed her charge's hair and tied on a dainty white cap trimmed with ribbon and lace, he scooped the little girl up in his arms and carried her out of the room, towards the Queen's apartments, leaving the governess to follow them at a discreet distance.

Anne's ladies had helped her to wash, dressing her in a clean nightgown before combing and braiding her long black hair, tying it with a ribbon. The bloodied bedding had been stripped and carried away and the great bed remade with fresh sheets before Anne was tucked back into it and propped up with pillows, then the baby was restored to her waiting arms.

He was dozing contentedly when his father and sister arrived for a visit.

"Henry." Anne glanced up from the baby to greet him with a warm smile when he entered. If she thought that he should have been there earlier or entertained any suspicions about why he had not come until now, there was no sign of it in her expression. Henry devoutly hoped that in her joy over their son's arrival, time had lost meaning for her. "And Elizabeth." Her smiled widened at the sight of her adored daughter. "There's somebody who would like to meet you both." She said, keeping her voice soft so that she didn't disturb the sleeping baby.

Setting Elizabeth down, Henry approached the bed, feeling wary, almost afraid now that the moment he had so longed for was here at last. He didn't dare to touch the baby at first, as though he was an illusion that might shatter if he came too close.

Then his son opened his eyes, a curious expression on his tiny face as he studied the new person looking down at him.

"The eyes are clever." Henry said softly, reaching out a tentative finger to touch one of the chubby fists and grinning broadly when the tiny fingers closed around his much larger one, gripping as though he would never let go. "And what a grip!"

"He's strong." Anne agreed.

"He is indeed, Your Majesty." Mistress Porter spoke up in a cheerful tone. "I've helped to bring hundreds of babies into the world and the little Prince is one of the strongest, healthiest infants I've ever seen, God bless him."

"Is that my baby brother?" Elizabeth asked, pulling herself up to stand on the tips of her toes to get a glimpse of the baby.

"He is, my darling." Anne confirmed, patting the space on the bed beside her invitingly and waiting for Elizabeth to climb up to sit next to her and showing her the baby. "Be very gentle, sweetheart," she cautioned as the toddler reached out to touch her new brother's plump cheeks and silky hair. "He's a very new baby, so we will have to be very careful with him."

"He's big." Elizabeth pronounced after studying the baby for a few moments. "Lots bigger than my doll."

"He is." Anne agreed, wincing slightly as she shifted positions. Her son's arrival had been relatively quick but it had certainly not been painless and even the medicine pressed on her after she was delivered couldn't hope to dull all of the lingering pain.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" Henry asked, concerned. He bent down to take the baby from her, rocking him back and forth to soothe the whimpers he let out in response to leaving his mother's arms and balancing him in the crook of one arm while he reached out to cup Anne's chin with his other hand, seeing the pallor and dark shadows under her eyes that betrayed her pain and exhaustion. "You're tired."

"A little." She admitted, settling back against her pillows and holding out one arm to Elizabeth, who was eager to snuggle into her embrace.

"I'm not surprised." Henry said, feeling a fresh stab of guilt at the memory of what he was doing while Anne was enduring such pain and struggles to bring their son into the world. "We shouldn't keep you up," he said solicitously, "you'll need to rest."

"No, I'm alright." Anne protested at once, not wanting the visit to be ended so quickly. "Please, stay."

"If you're sure," Henry said, "but if you start to feel too tired, you make sure that you let me know, alright? We can come back when you've rested."

"I promise." She hugged Elizabeth close, stroking her hair.

"What's his name?" Elizabeth asked curiously, looking up at each of her parents in turn. She couldn't keep calling him 'baby brother', after all.

Henry was silent as he looked down at his son's face. He had considered the question of what his son should be named many times over the past months, debating which of his ancestors he should be named for, or if he should be named for a saint, who would be able to watch over him and protect him as he grew to manhood, before narrowing it down to a choice of two names, the same two he settled on for a son before Elizabeth's birth; Edward or...

"Henry." Anne's tone was decisive as she spoke the name, meeting Henry's eyes. "He's the image of you," she explained. "What other name could we give him?"

"But Papa is Henry!" Elizabeth protested. "The baby can't have the same name. It'd be muddled."

"What if we name the baby Henry but call him 'Harry' when we speak to him? Nobody would be muddled then." Anne suggested, wanting to include Elizabeth in the discussion, to make sure that she didn't feel left out or forgotten now that she had a brother. "Do you think that would be alright?"

Elizabeth considered the question carefully before nodding her approval. "I like Harry." She said in a solemn tone.

"So do I." Henry agreed, kissing the top of the baby's downy head, pleased with the choice of name.

Henry, Prince of Wales.

Little Prince Harry.

King Henry the Ninth.

It sounded well.

Anne tried to stifle a yawn but failed and seeing this, Henry decided that, regardless of her protests that she was fine, she was clearly exhausted and it would do her no good if they kept her awake any longer.

He passed baby Harry to Mistress Porter, watching as she settled him in the ornately carved cradle that would be kept in Anne's apartments until she was churched, after which the infant prince would be moved to his own nursery, far enough away from his parents to ensure that their rest was not disturbed by his cries and later, he would join Elizabeth at Hatfield. Once his son was settled, he motioned for his daughter's governess to take her away, promising Elizabeth that she would be allowed to visit tomorrow when she grumbled at being sent away.

One of Anne's ladies stepped forward to help to settle her down to sleep but Henry held up a hand to halt her, bending down himself to ease Anne into a lying position and straighten her pillows, making sure that the covers were tucked closely enough around her to keep her warm but not so tightly that her movements were restricted. Her eyes were already drifting shut when he brushed a kiss against her forehead, then her lips before taking her hand in his and squeezing it gently.

"I will never be able to thank you enough for this, my love." He said, so softly that only she could hear him.

It wasn't until he was leaving the room that Henry realized the significance of the date. Exactly three years ago, he and Anne rode through the streets of London to her coronation, to see her crowned Queen of England. Today, their son was born, a future King of England.

He was certain that this was a good omen.

* * *

"You will see to the arrangements for banquets, masques and jousts to celebrate the birth of my son," Henry instructed Norfolk, who swelled with pride at being entrusted with this task.

"It would be my honour and my pleasure, Your Majesty." He said with a deep bow. "I imagine that everybody at court – in all of England – will share our delight at this blessed event and want to honour the little Prince, and the Queen." He predicted cheerfully, even though he knew that he was stretching the truth more than a little. As he spoke, he imagined that the Seymours were devastated to hear of Anne's triumph, they had had such high hopes for that wretched girl of theirs, Jane. Perhaps they had even hoped that she might be able to supplant Anne as Queen but now they would know that the best she could ever hope for would be life as the King's mistress, easily taken up and just as easily discarded.

The Lady Mary was another to whom this news would be most unwelcome. The girl would be furious to know that, despite her best efforts to try to destroy Anne, her stepmother had succeeded in giving birth to the baby who would supplant as Mary as heir to the throne, even in the eyes of those who remained stubborn over the question of Elizabeth's succession ahead of her half-sister.

He wondered who would be the one to tell Mary of the birth of her new half-brother, guessing that Boleyn would want to choose the messenger, even if he didn't travel to the More himself with the news, to make sure that he was given a full, frank report of the girl's reaction to the news. He took great delight in rubbing news of Anne's triumphs into the faces of her enemies, something Norfolk was rather scornful of, though he reminded himself that once could not expect any better from the grandson of a merchant.

"Good." Henry nodded his approval, gesturing towards George. "My Lord Rochford will assist you."

"I'd be happy to." George agreed cheerfully, more than pleased to play his part in arranging the celebrations in honour of his nephew's birth.

Brandon and Cromwell both watched silently as Anne's relatives discussed plans for celebrations in honour of the baby with the King, all three of men eager to put forward their ideas and determined to make sure that the festivities were the most elaborate ever put on for the birth of a royal child, determined to make sure that nobody could doubt that the new baby was the prince, the acknowledged heir to the throne, determined to make people forget that there was a time, eighteen years ago, when the birth of another royal child was greeted with joy and celebration.

The then Princess Mary's sex may have been a disappointment but Henry's delight at the birth of a healthy baby was undeniable, even if that baby was not the son he craved, and the celebrations he ordered were almost as elaborate as those that would have greeted the arrival of a prince.

If Brandon remembered correctly, in those days Thomas Boleyn, then a plain knight, was delighted to be one of the men singled out for the honour of helping to carry the canopy over the infant princess as she was carried to the chapel for her christening but now, his joy stemmed from the fact that he was the grandfather of a future King of England, something he would never have dared to dream of back then.

As usual, it was impossible to tell what Cromwell was thinking, his expression gave away no hint of what he might be feeling but Brandon couldn't decide if he was more disgusted or amused by the way Anne's relatives were behaving. For Henry's sake, he was happy that his friend had the son and heir he craved. He knew that the question of what would happen to England if he died without leaving behind a prince to succeed him was one that had troubled Henry for years and he was glad that that worry would no longer weigh on him but he considered it ridiculous that the two Boleyn men, together with the Duke of Norfolk were behaving as though this reflected great glory on them.

Anyone would think that Anne had managed to do something truly extraordinary, as though tens of thousands of women didn't manage to do the same thing every year – and those women didn't need to be coddled and pampered for months on end before they were delivered of their sons! Even if bearing a son was such an achievement, the achievement was _Anne's_ , not her _family's_.

The expression on Thomas Boleyn's face couldn't have been prouder if he had given birth to little Prince Harry himself.

It was a relief when Norfolk and George Boleyn were dismissed to get to work on the celebrations for the prince and Thomas Boleyn took the opportunity to excuse himself to visit his daughter and his infant grandson. Once they were gone, only Brandon and Cromwell remained behind with Henry and as Henry wanted to speak with the latter about arrangements to call Parliament together to proclaim his son as his first rightful heir and to invest him with the title of Prince of Wales, Brandon didn't have to say anything.

He wouldn't have known what to say.

He had spoken the appropriate congratulations, of course, and he was sincere in them. He was less sincere in his queries about Anne's health and how she was feeling after the birth but he made sure that there was no hint of that in his expression as he asked after her. For Henry's sake, he was glad that he had a son and that he had not lost his wife, whom he seemed to love very much these days but for himself, he couldn't be glad to see that Anne now had what she wanted.

Earlier in the year, Brandon sensed that relations between Anne and Cromwell, who was such a source of support and assistance to the Boleyn faction during the quest for an annulment and who had helped to author many of the laws and measures that had helped to secure her position as Queen, and little Elizabeth's right to be her father's heiress, in the absence of a brother. Cromwell believed that an alliance with Spain would be of great benefit to England and Anne, in addition to supporting a French alliance instead, had the potential to be a living barrier to friendly relations with the Emperor, nephew of the woman she had supplanted. It was also known that they had disagreed over the proposed plans for the confiscated monastic properties and, while he would never have said anything, Cromwell was not pleased when Henry decided to turn several of the religious houses over to Anne to dispose of their assets as she deemed fit, especially when her plans for them proved to be quite promising.

However, while he might have had his differences with Anne, Cromwell was shrewd enough to know that her position was a strong one at the moment, virtually unassailable as long as baby Harry lived and thrived, and he would therefore make sure not to make an enemy of her, knowing that he was much better off to cultivate her friendship and to once again work to strengthen her position as Queen.

"I am sure that there will be no difficulty in securing the Prince's position, and that the people will be willing to accept him as Your Majesty's true, lawful heir. In a way, it is perhaps fortunate that Princess Elizabeth was born first." His tone was absent, as though the words were spoken without thought but anybody who knew Cromwell well would know that he never said a word without thinking about what he was saying first and without tempering his words to the person he was addressing.

"What?" Henry was taken aback by his Chancellor's words; while he was delighted with the arrival of his baby son, it didn't stop him regretting that little Harry had not been born sooner, that he was the firstborn and Elizabeth had come afterwards. Surely it would have made things easier for all concerned if he and Anne had been able to give England a prince within the first year of their marriage and proved to everybody, including Katherine, that his union with his brother's widow was truly accursed and invalid.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," Cromwell inclined his head slightly. "I spoke out of turn. I was merely thinking that..." He trailed off.

"Go on." Henry prompted him, his curiousity aroused. "What do you mean?"

"As Your Majesty will remember, and you too, Your Grace," he added to Brandon, who had been one of the agents charged with spreading the news throughout England and bringing word of it to certain prominent people, including Katherine. "When the Princess Elizabeth was born, there was some difficulty with regard to securing her position as Your Majesty's true and rightful heir, excluding the Lady Mary from the succession."

This was an understatement and all three men knew it. Before Elizabeth was born, when Henry was so sure that she would be a boy, he was convinced that once his son was born, the people of England would come to love their new Queen, becoming as devoted to her as they were to Katherine, if not more so. He had wanted them to do this since her coronation, when her reception was cool at best, and he was certain that they would cheerfully accept the prince as heir in place of the girl they had been accustomed to thinking of as the next ruler of England until that point. However, while a son might have enjoyed greater success in terms of winning support away from Mary, the majority of the people of England proved reluctant to see Mary being supplanted by her much younger half-sister, ensuring that Mary and Katherine were not the only people who insisted that the former was the rightful heiress to the throne.

Elizabeth's legitimacy and her right to succeed her father became a matter of law. Henry was not prepared to allow there to be any question over his new daughter's status and her acceptance as a princess and as heiress to the throne in the absence of a brother was required from all English subjects. Refusing to accept her as such was treason and punishable by death and the Act of Succession drafted to secure her rights, an act that Brandon himself had voted in favour of out of loyalty to Henry, together with the Oath that every man and woman in England was required to sign, had wound up causing more heartache and bloodshed than anyone could have thought possible.

Most people had signed the Oath when commanded to do so, though whether they signed willingly or just to save their skins, and whether they had any intention of living up to their vow should they be called upon to do so were questions that was far more difficult to answer but it was the people who refused who truly posed a problem, especially those like Cardinal Fisher and Thomas More, men who were respected and whose deaths would anger the people.

Thomas More was the worst. He was a good man, a man of principle and was known as such. Had it been possible for him satisfy Henry without going against him conscience, he would have done so happily – indeed, he had declared that he had no quarrel with Parliament's decision to declare Anne Queen of England, or her child as heir to the throne, believing that these were issues that they and the King had lawful jurisdiction over – but he could not take the Oath, could not acknowledge Henry as Supreme Head of the Church.

Even so, Brandon believed Henry when he said that he hadn't wanted More to be executed.

_"Do you think the planets have any influence over our lives?"_

_The question was a surprising one, coming as it did in the middle of a friendly conversation as they walked around the ornamental pond, with Henry enquiring after Catherine and remarking that Brandon was fortunate to be so happily married. With hindsight, Brandon wondered if his friend hoped to be told that he did believe in the planets' influence, as though it would absolve him of responsibility for some of the choices he had made over that past months and years if he could believe that they were the ones guiding his hand, if he was merely following the plan already laid out for him._

_Not knowing then what Henry wanted to hear, he chose the safest answer; "I don't know."_

_"I would often discuss the issue with More," Henry remarked, laying a hand on Brandon's shoulder to still him. Anne was also walking in the gardens with her dog, accompanied by two of her ladies and he did not want to come any closer to her, not wanting to either be put in a position where courtesy would demand that he acknowledge her and speak to her or to allow her to overhear their conversation. "We would stand on the roof at night and study the Heavens." He looked up as he spoke, as though he could picture the stars, despite the fact that the sun was still bright in the sky. He let out a short laugh before turning his attention back to Brandon. "More had a great knowledge of the stars and how they influence our... humours." He held a small silver cross in his hand and his expression became one of mingled sorrow and anger as he gazed at it. "I regret now what happened to More."_

_Had he been speaking to anybody but his King, Brandon might have commented that it was a little late for regret now, that it could do no good to either More or to his family, but he didn't dare to voice that thought aloud. Instead, he remained silent, putting his arm around Henry's shoulder as they began to walk again._

_"In some ways, I wish it had never happened." Henry commented bitterly as they walked. "But it wasn't all my fault," he insisted, like a boy who had done something wrong and now hoped to shift part of the blame to a head other than his own. "Whenever my resolve weakened, whenever I was inclined to save him, a certain person would privately urge me on to his destruction."_

_"Who?" Brandon could think of only a few candidates, the only people who were likely to dare to speak up on the subject or to be able to hold any sway over his friend once he had made his mind up; Master Cromwell, Archbishop Cranmer and Thomas Boleyn, all of whom had a vested interest in seeing the Oath of Succession taken, high and low, and to see those who stood against them destroyed._

_Henry's voice was cold as he answered. "You know who she is, Charles." As though to extinguish any possible doubt about the culprit's identity, he glanced in Anne's direction, his expression darkening, as though he couldn't bear the sight of her._

_Anne gave him a small, hopeful smile when he looked towards her but when she saw the set, angry expression on his face, her smile quickly faded away and was replaced by a wary, fearful expression. Before others, she tried to act as though things were normal, as though she had no reason to fear for her position or to doubt her husband's love but it was well known that her position was weaker now than it had ever been before, even in the days before her marriage; King Francis, once the only ally she had among the Kings of Europe and the first to acknowledge her marriage to Henry, had deliberately snubbed her through his ambassador, indicating that he saw the Lady Mary as legitimate and Elizabeth as a bastard, and since she miscarried her child, Henry was beginning to doubt whether she would ever be able to give him a son – and given that he spent far more of his time with his mistresses than he did with his wife, he wasn't doing much to help her conceive again._

_Anne was a fool to jeopardize her already fragile position even further by pushing Henry to order the execution of a man who was once his dear friend... and even those who hated Anne had to acknowledge that she was no fool._

_Had she been a fool, they would have been rid of her long ago._

_Brandon would have liked to believe that Henry was telling the truth when he insisted that it was Anne who pushed him to execute More and that without her vicious influence, he might have spared his life. He hated to think that his friend was so willing to cast aside somebody who was once dear to him, especially since it would mean that there was a very real risk that he might find himself in More's position one day if he fell afoul of Henry, but he couldn't help but have his doubts, unable to believe that Anne was stupid enough to push the issue, or that her position was strong enough to allow her to influence Henry, even if she wanted to._

_It was disturbing enough to think that Anne might have been able to persuade Henry to execute a man he had once called friend, despite his inclination to save him but if Anne hadn't played a part, then Henry made the decision of his own volition and that thought was even more unwelcome._

He was so absorbed by his own thoughts and recollections that he listened to Cromwell with only half an ear as the other man explained his reasoning for thinking that the birth of a daughter first was a blessing in disguise, rather than a blow.

"...because we had already paved the way with Princess Elizabeth, it means that the Prince's succession is assured now, and without the need to stir up any ill-feelings by pushing the issue and ensuring that those who are not loyal to Your Majesty and who are not prepared to accept your decision regarding the rightful positions of your children by Queen Anne are dealt with as they deserve." Cromwell explained smoothly, dipping his head slightly when he finished speaking, knowing without looking that Henry was giving his words serious consideration.

"That is true." Henry agreed, brightening a little.

Cromwell was right; had baby Harry been born nearly three years ago, when Elizabeth was, then they would have had to work to ensure that his rights were recognized throughout England and it was very probable that the few, stubborn people who insisted that Mary was his heir would have had to be executed, something that would have stirred up resentment towards the Prince and that would never have done. As well as that, since Harry was born after Katherine's death, there would hopefully be fewer people who were foolish and wrong-headed enough to think him a bastard. Maybe it was better this way.

Cromwell echoed his thoughts. "God does indeed work in mysterious ways."

* * *

Pulling George aside for a private word was more difficult than Mary had anticipated.

As the King had charged him with assisting their uncle with the preparations for the celebrations in honour of baby Harry, he was being kept busy but not so busy that he could not spare a few minutes to speak to her. She suspected that once he realized that she wanted a chance to speak to him privately, he deliberately kept out of her sight, either to avoid being asked to do a favour for her or for her husband, or simply to irritate her, as he often had when they were children and he rebelled at the idea of being told what to do by his sister, even if she was a year his senior.

He paid Anne and the baby a visit, enthusing over the sight of his nephew and agreeing that he was clearly the image of his father, but Mary couldn't say what she had to say in front of their sister and once he saw that she was trying to get his attention, he slipped away before she could say a word.

When she finally caught up with him, grasping him firmly by the arm and pulling him to the nearest empty chamber so that they could have some privacy, he smiled at her with choirboy innocence, as though he had no idea that she had been trying to get him alone to talk to her.

"If you needed to speak with me, sister, all you needed to do was say so." He joked, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Mary felt a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. George had always been able to charm almost anybody out of being angry with him, ever since childhood when his ready smile had spared him many of the scoldings and punishments that he might have had under other circumstances, and looking at him now, Mary could feel herself responding to that charm and she had to sternly remind herself of the issue at hand, to force herself to be serious.

"This is no laughing matter, George." She told him severely, feeling the urge to shake him. What he was doing was dangerous and she needed him to recognize that fact.

"Oh dear," he gave her a boyish grin. "Am I in trouble?" he lowered his voice, as though they were a pair of conspirators. "Has Father found out that I borrowed his favourite horse?" He asked, remembering the countless times he had done that as a young boy, flouting his father's prohibition and leaving both of his sisters to cover for him and make excuses on his behalf if his absence was noticed and questioned.

"No, but your sister has found out that you are having an affair with Mark Smeaton." Mary told him bluntly, keeping her voice low just in case anybody was close enough to overhear them. As she expected, her words wiped the smile off George's face entirely. "Jane told me," she explained before he could ask. "She's very unhappy about it and she's very worried about you."

It was plain from the expression on George's face that he didn't care whether or not his wife was unhappy about his relationship with Mark and he certainly wasn't touched by the thought that Jane might have been worried about him. He glared at Mary.

"I didn't encourage our father and uncle to allow you to come back to court so that you could spread slanders about me!" He hissed at her, furious. "If I'd known that you'd try something like this, I'd have told Anne that it was impossible when she said that she wanted to have you with her again and that she should forget about it. You haven't told her these lies, have you?" He demanded, looking worried at the idea that Anne might have been made aware of his relationship with Mark.

Mary didn't know if he was worried because he was afraid that Anne would side with her and with Jane against him or if he simply didn't want his little sister to know what he was doing.

"I haven't told her; God knows that she's had more than enough to worry about over these past months without giving her something else to fret about. I hope that I won't have to say anything to her; it would hurt her to know. George," her voice softened and she laid a gentle hand on her brother's shoulder. "I understand that you love him but you need to understand how dangerous this is, for you and especially for Mark. It would mean your deaths. You might be lucky and be sentenced to beheading but Mark's a commoner, you know what they'd do to him."

George winced at the thought; the method of execution for a commoner was horrible, a long, agonizing experience that must make the moment of death a very welcome one. Unlike members of the nobility and the gentry, they couldn't hope that their sentence would be commuted to a simple beheading. He couldn't stomach the thought of seeing Mark go through that but the thought of giving him up was also a painful one.

"It wouldn't happen." He insisted stubbornly. "My sister is the Queen of England, and she has a son now. I'm the uncle of the next King of England. I'm safe and I can make sure that Mark is safe too. Even Jane isn't stupid enough to try to talk about it outside the family; she knows that if I fall, my wife would fall with me. She won't risk that and even if she did, who'd believe _her_ over the King's _brother-in-law >/I>?"_

"George..." Mary tried to remonstrate with him but he was having none of it.

Wrenching his arm out of her grasp, he stalked past her, opening the door and leaving the room, slamming it shut behind him and leaving his older sister alone and terrified for him.

When she was first told that she was to be dismissed from her position as one of Queen Anne's ladies-in-waiting, Jane resented it. Not only would it be seen by many people at court as proof that there was reason to complain of her conduct with the King, it was also very hurtful to know that the man who had pleaded to serve her, professing a true, chaste love, would be prepared to place Anne's needs before hers and dismiss Jane for her sake, even though he must surely have known that her banishment would be the subject of spiteful gossip as soon as it became public knowledge, as it inevitably would.

Now, however, she was glad that she had been dismissed.

If she was still one of Anne's ladies-in-waiting, even if her appointment was in name only and she was excused from her duties because her mistress could not bear the sight of her and the knowledge that the King loved another woman more than he loved her, then Jane would still have been sleeping in the bed she was assigned when she first came to court, in a chamber shared with three other ladies and it would be there that she would have had to go when she returned to the palace, and she was sure that they would have known with a glance what had happened.

She had given herself to the King.

Since she was dismissed, she had a small, private bedchamber of her own, part of the apartment where her father and brother had lived since the family was called to court. Thankfully, they were not present and could not ask her questions about where she had been all morning and what she had been doing while she was away. Even if her father didn't suspect, she knew that Edward would know what she had done as soon as he saw her.

She had given herself to the King.

She didn't regret the decision, not really. She loved him and wanted nothing more than to keep loving him.

Even so, it was a bitter blow when she returned to the palace, accompanied by two grooms who, much to her relief, had sensed her need for silence and solitude and who had not spoken a word to her, and seen everybody celebrating as she slipped in. She immediately knew what it was they were celebrating.

Anne had had a son. She had given birth to the healthy boy the King craved, the little prince that so many people in England were hoping and praying for. She had secured her own power for the rest of her life and ensured that, even if the King wanted to marry Jane and make her his next wife and Queen, he wouldn't be able to. He wouldn't be able to set Anne aside because if he did so, it would place the infant prince's legitimacy and status in question and that was something he would never be prepared to do for any woman, no matter how much he loved her. No matter how much he said he loved her.

It was over.

The King seemed pleased by her and he was kind as he left, quickly assuring her that he would stay if he could and promising that their escort would see her safely back to the palace.

Then he was gone.

He had ridden back to the palace with the Duke of Suffolk, eager to reach Anne's side, to be in the palace while she brought their child into the world, even if he could not be in the chamber with her, and to visit as soon as the baby was born.

When he had to choose between staying with Jane and going to Anne, he chose Anne.

He would always choose Anne from now on.

Jane had lost him.

It was over.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**_5th June 1536_ **

As proxy for King Francis, Ambassador de Bellay was entrusted with the honour of carrying the infant prince to the chapel and holding him over the font while he was christened.

The procession was an elaborate one. George Boleyn, Henry Norris, William Stafford and Thomas Wyatt, the latter two newly knighted in honour of the occasion, carried the cloth of gold canopy over Bellay and the prince while Lady Mary Stafford, as godmother, followed close behind, with the Princess Elizabeth, carried in the arms of her grandfather and bearing the chrism oil and a lace-trimmed robe, next in the procession and the rest of the court following behind, ranked in order of precedence.

He could see Sir John Seymour, together with his son and daughter, walking towards the end of the procession and Bellay had to bite his lower lip to keep from smiling at the sight of them.

While almost all of the courtiers present were smiling, delighted by the safe arrival of a healthy prince, all three of the Seymours wore sombre expressions, with the daughter looking unhappiest of all, and just about everybody knew why this was the case; King Henry had favoured Mistress Seymour with his attentions during the Queen's pregnancy and it was known that their relationship had not been a carnal one, that her family had higher ambitions for her than to see her as another in a long succession of royal mistresses. It was whispered that perhaps they were even hoping that if Queen Anne failed to produce an heir, she would be set aside and Queen Jane would have a chance to succeed where she failed.

Now that the little prince had been born safely and looked to be a healthy child who would live and thrive, their hopes were over and they looked far from happy about it.

Bellay was rather relieved, and he imagined that his master would be as well. Queen Anne had grown up in the French court and was therefore warmly disposed towards King Francis and known to advocate French interests, as her father did, while the Seymours were rumoured to favour an Imperial alliance and to be supporters of the Lady Mary, King Henry's illegitimate daughter, who was naturally not allowed to be present for the christening today.

She was still in exile, safely tucked away in a country manor where she could do no further harm to her stepmother or any other member of the royal family, and not even Senor Felipez, the new Imperial ambassador, was allowed to visit her. However, even though she was far removed from the court and from the public eye, gossip about her scandalous conduct circulated freely, among courtiers and the common people alike, in England and throughout Europe.

King Francis, alerted by his spies as to what had transpired, was able to be the first King to extend his sympathies to the King and Queen of England and to deplore the wicked, unfilial actions of the Lady Mary and Bellay suspected that a good part of his master's outrage was genuine; it was bad enough when somebody sought to spill royal blood but when the guilty party was the monarch's own child, it was more horrific still. Had the Lady Mary been successful, how many other heirs might have been inspired to strike against their fathers rather than waiting for the throne? How many younger brothers, or even daughters would try to clear away the heirs ahead of them in the succession?

It was as well that the Lady Mary should serve as an example to them of the fate of those who tried to commit such treasonous acts.

Neither the King nor the Queen attended the christening ceremony but that was the usual state of affairs. The Queen was still in bed, recovering from the ordeal of childbirth, and the King preferred to allow his infant heir to be the centre of attention today so he had elected to remain at his wife's side while their son was christened. Bellay did not doubt, however, that the proud father and mother would both be given a full report of the ceremony and of the honour paid to their baby son on his first official appearance before the day was out.

Archbishop Cranmer smiled slightly when he looked down at the baby, who was stripped naked for the ceremony so that everybody present could see that his skin was clear and unmarked and that his tiny limbs were straight and strong. He wriggled in Bellay's arms, sensing that something unusual was about to happen. Cupping his hand, the archbishop scooped up a handful of water, pouring it on the baby's head as he spoke the words that welcomed him as a baptized Christian and as Lady Mary Stafford and Bellay promised, as godmother and proxy godfather, to renounce Satan and to guide the little prince to God.

There was a collective sigh of relief when Prince Harry wailed indignantly at the touch of the cold water, indicating that the Devil had been driven out of him, though his sister was inclined to be up in arms at the thought that her baby brother was being hurt and had to be quickly hushed by her grandfather before she could scold Archbishop Cranmer for upsetting him.

Lady Mary Stafford, assisted by two ladies, dressed the baby prince in his christening robe, an exquisitely embroidered garment crafted from white and ivory silk, slightly rumpled after being clutched by the toddler princess throughout the ceremony, and passed him back into Bellay's arms.

A herald led the way as the procession made their way towards the Queen's chambers, to restore the baby to his mother's arms, and he called out as they made their way through the corridors.

"God, of infinite goodness, send long and prosperous life to the High and Mighty Prince of England, Henry, Duke of Cornwall!"

Bellay was not accustomed to carrying children, particularly a baby as tiny and wriggling as Prince Harry but he kept a firm, though gentle grip on him as he walked, maintaining a slow pace for safety as much as for ceremony and knowing that if anything happened to this baby while he was in his charge, the consequences were likely to be dire.

Before the ceremony, King Henry joked that it would mean war if Bellay dropped his son and, while the words were spoken in jest, he suspected that there was a great deal of truth to them. King Henry's desire for a son was very well known, as were the lengths to which he had been prepared to go to ensure that he was able to remarry and father an heir, so if the French ambassador dropped the precious baby prince, Anglo-French relations would suffer for it and that was something they certainly did not need.

Prince Harry seemed to take the ceremony in his stride, settling down in Bellay's arms as he was carried through the corridors, as though he could sense that he was being brought back to his mother and was content now that he knew that he would soon be with her again. He wasn't in the least bit disturbed by the cries of the herald, or the exclamations of the courtiers over his obvious health and high spirits.

Queen Anne was sitting up in bed, dressed in a day robe of pale purple silk and darker purple velvet, trimmed with ermine, her long, black hair loose and Bellay smiled slightly at the sight of her, glad to see that she was so obviously happy that she seemed to glow. He wished her well, and had ever since their first meeting, when 'Mademoiselle Anne' was presented to him and he found her to be a delightful girl, both beautiful and charming, more like a French woman than an English woman, which was hardly surprising, given how long she was a member of the French court. She returned his smile with a radiant one of her own as he set her baby son in her arms and stepped back while King Henry laid a hand on his son's tiny skull in a gesture of blessing.

"Permit me to offer my warmest congratulations, Your Majesty," Bellay addressed Anne in French, bowing low, an example the courtiers accompanying him and the baby prince followed, while Princess Elizabeth clamoured for her grandfather to put her down so that she could run to her father, who swept her up into his arms and planted a smacking kiss on her cheek, much to her delight.

"Thank you, Your Excellency." Anne responded, holding out a slender hand to allow him to kiss it. Her expression sobered abruptly as she looked behind him, catching sight of a certain lady. She recovered quickly, forcing a smile to her face but her lapse did not go unnoticed and Bellay followed her gaze, knowing at once what it was that had upset her.

He wasn't the only one to notice; Henry also looked to see what it was that had upset his wife and his mouth tightened when he saw what it was.

Like everybody else at court, the Seymours were invited to the christening and he expected them to attend but he would have hoped that they, or at least Jane, would have the sense not to follow the rest of the procession to Anne's rooms, especially since it would mean that Anne would be confronted with their appearance before the whole court, all of whom would be watching eagerly to see how she responded to the sight of the woman she feared as a rival for her husband's affections, no doubt hoping that she'd react angrily, perhaps even hysterically, and give them something to gossip and speculate about.

Surely Jane knew that her presence would upset Anne, and God knew that she had already gone through more than enough!

Seeing his frown, together with his slight nod in the direction of the door, Edward Seymour bowed and excused himself, tugging his sister out of the room with him while Henry turned to Anne, hoping to distract her, even though he knew that there was no way they could pretend that she hadn't seen Jane.

"How are you feeling, sweetheart?" He asked, waving to dismiss Bellay and the rest of the courtiers before he sat down on the chair next to the bed, holding Elizabeth in his lap and bouncing her a little to make her giggle, watching with an indulgent smile as she reached out to touch Harry's tiny fist and allow him to grip her finger. "Not too tired?"

"No." Anne shook her head. "I'm fine."

"Sick of being in bed?" He asked with a knowing smile, inwardly impressed with her. Had he been in her shoes, he didn't know how he would have coped with having to stay in bed, under the care and control of a physician, for more than four months.

"Yes." She nodded emphatically before smiling down at baby Harry. "But it was worth it."

"Yes, it was." He agreed. "But Linacre tells me that you should be strong enough to get out of bed for a couple of hours a day by the end of the week," he reminded her brightly, "and that it'll be no time after that before you're back on your feet."

Anne nodded confirmation. Dr Linacre had spoken to her about it already, detailing his plans and his hopes for her recovery, warning her that after such a long period of inactivity she might find that it took her quite some time to regain her previous strength and that, until she did, some of the activities she had previously engaged in might tire her out very quickly, advising her not to be afraid to take a nap during the day if she needed it, but that wasn't what worried her. It was such a relief to know that there was an end to her enforced confinement in sight that she could live with it for another few days. The part that worried her was Dr Linacre's other admonition.

She was not to resume her connubial duties for at least six months.

On that point, he was firm. Under no circumstances could she risk becoming pregnant any sooner than that, and it was very common for a woman to become pregnant just after the birth of their previous baby. He thought that if she became pregnant again before her body had a chance to properly recover from Harry's birth, her chances of carrying the child to term would be very slim and that there was a very real possibility that the effort to do so might kill her, so he forbade her to take the risk of conceiving.

She could tell by the expression on Henry's face that Linacre had told him of the prohibition too and that he was thinking of it now as he looked down at her.

Six months.

It might as well be six centuries.

Once, Henry had waited years for her, years during which he had not bedded another woman or even looked at one, he was so absorbed in her to the exclusion of all others. He was devoted to her and willing to wait as long as it took for them to be together honourably, even though there would have been few people in the kingdom who would have blamed him if he had abandoned her in favour of another woman, one who would be more reasonable and willing to content herself with being his mistress.

Now, she had good reason to doubt that he would be willing to wait six months for her, even though the reason for the delay was one that no husband could ever complain about.

It was unfair!

It was wrong!

Much as she loved Harry, much as she would have repeated her ordeal in a heartbeat if the alternative was that she could not have him with her, his birth caused her a great deal of pain and suffering and the months leading up to it had been long, boring and difficult for her. She had gone through all that so that they could have their baby, the son she knew that Henry wanted and the son that all of England needed and while her husband was overjoyed with the baby boy, and with her for bringing him into the world, he wouldn't be prepared to wait for her while she recovered from doing so.

If he didn't continue his relationship with Mistress Seymour – and Anne would be more than happy to see the back of that wench, once she was back on her feet again and could take advantage of Henry's affectionate, solicitous manner to coax him into dismissing Jane from the court and bundling her back to Wolf Hall where she belonged – there would be another woman, or perhaps more than one and, while he might be pleased with her for giving him a son, Henry would never allow her to suggest that he was not within his rights to take a mistress if he wished to do so. As far as he was concerned, it was his prerogative as King, especially when his wife was unable to share his bed and he would not tolerate any questioning of his rights.

Perhaps Henry could sense what she was thinking. His smile was reassuring and his tone was gentle as he spoke. "Whatever time you need to recover, I insist that you take it, my darling." He told her kindly. "We can't take any chances with your health." He brightened as a fresh idea struck him. "We'll have to have a celebration," he declared, "once you're back on your feet and can rejoin the court. We'll have a great banquet to welcome you back, and jousting and masques – would you like that?"

"I would." Elizabeth piped up. She wasn't allowed to attend banquets very often but she enjoyed them on the rare occasions when she was allowed to attend, especially when she was allowed to stay up to watch the masques. She couldn't wait until she was a very big girl and allowed to attend all of the banquets and to dance in the masques like a grown-up lady.

"Well, we have to have one now." Henry declared, tickling little Elizabeth and making her shriek with laughter. "Princess Elizabeth has spoken. Do you think that you'll need a new gown, sweetheart?" He asked his daughter gravely, twining a lock of her fair hair around one of his fingers.

"Yes." Elizabeth nodded solemnly. "And Mama too."

"I think that your Mama is going to be keeping her poor dressmakers very busy for a long time." Henry agreed, winking at Anne, who pulled a face by way of response but didn't argue. They both knew that it was true.

While she had had quite a few gowns made for Elizabeth, spending hours debating which shades would be best suited to her daughter's colouring, ordering new gowns for herself was the last thing on her mind over the past few months and she wouldn't have been able to stand for fittings, in any case, even if her swollen belly wouldn't make it impossible for the dressmakers to guess what her measurements would be after the child was born. Her wardrobe was now in need of replenishing and she decided to take advantage of some of her spare time over the coming weeks to inspect swatches of fabric and sketches of designs so that the first few of her new gowns would be ready when she was finally allowed to return to the court.

It would be amusing to see how quickly the other ladies hurried to imitate her choices of colour and design, as they had during the years of Henry's courtship, years in which she was favoured above all others and looked to as the next Queen of England, a time when she could have appeared in sackcloth and half of the ladies at court would have emulated her the next day.

In her arms, Harry began to fuss, although he didn't start to cry. He never cried when Anne held him, something that Mistress Porter and several of her ladies had remarked on – though he certainly made up for it when others held him.

"He's hungry." Henry commented, gently shifting Elizabeth from his lap and taking Harry from Anne, clucking soothingly at him when he began to wail. "I'll have them bring him to his wetnurse."

As with Elizabeth, it was out of the question for Anne to feed her baby herself, much to her own dismay. Although Henry had hinted when Elizabeth was born that she might have been allowed to nurse a son, a wetnurse was immediately engaged to feed Harry. The only difference was that the explanation for this prohibition was that it would not be good for her health if she fed her new son herself – although Anne couldn't see why the agony she was enduring while her breasts were tightly bound with linen bandages and her milk dried up was supposed to be the better option – instead of the matter of fact reprimand she was given when Henry caught her preparing to feed their daughter: "Queens don't do that. Especially not for a daughter."

Henry carried Harry out of the room and Anne could hear him instructing Madge Shelton to bring him to his wetnurse. He returned after a few moments to see that Elizabeth had taken advantage of the fact that Anne's arms were now free to clamber onto the bed and snuggle into her mother's embrace.

"They'll bring him straight back, sweetheart," He promised Anne, returning to his chair by the bed. "I'll speak to Master Cromwell about making arrangements for Harry to be invested with the title of Prince of Wales as soon as you're strong enough to attend the ceremony – you won't want to miss it, I'm sure."

"No." Anne agreed.

Elizabeth looked up at her parents, a puzzled expression on her cherubic face. "Mary told me that she's really the Princess of Wales." She remarked, her confusion plain at the memory of the sad, angry expression on Mary's face when she made that claim. "But she can't be that if Harry's the Prince of Wales."

"No, she can't." Henry agreed grimly, frowning darkly at the mention of his elder daughter and instinctively reaching out to take Anne's hand in his and squeeze it gently, remembering how close Mary had come to taking her from him. "And she's not."

"Mary isn't a princess at all, is she?" Elizabeth persisted, wanting to get the explanation for the mystery surrounding her half-sister and for the situation to be clarified, once and for all. "She's not Mama's daughter and that's why she's called 'Lady Mary', not Princess."

Anne was silent. It was inevitable that Elizabeth would become curious about her half-sister's status. She was a bright child and, while she knew that Mary was Henry's daughter and therefore her sister, she was bound to notice the differences in the treatment meted out to them. When she was smaller, it was natural to her that she, as the Princess, should be honoured and pampered and allowed to take precedence over all of the ladies in her household, including Mary but she was bound to start asking questions sooner or later. Anne had hoped that it would be a few more years before Elizabeth raised the issue, hoped that she might even forget Mary altogether now that she no longer saw her but now that Elizabeth had asked, she wasn't sure how to answer.

How could any toddler, even an intelligent toddler, possibly be expected to understand the complexities of the issue?

Seeing her discomfort, Henry came to the rescue.

"That's right, my precious." He told Elizabeth, forcing himself to smile and to look cheerful for her sake. "The Lady Mary isn't a princess like you are – no matter what lies she's told you."

"It's wicked to tell lies." Elizabeth interjected sagely.

Henry chuckled softly. "Yes, it is. You see, sweetheart, the Lady Mary is my daughter but she's not my trueborn daughter. Her mother and I were never married, which means that Mary is illegitimate and illegitimate daughters can't be princesses, not even when their father is the King. Mary is very lucky to have the title of Lady, even if she isn't sensible enough to be grateful for it."

"Oh." Elizabeth was quiet for a few moments as she digested his words, then she looked back up at him. "Mary doesn't live in Hatfield anymore. Lady Bryan said that she wouldn't be coming back, not ever."

"I know. I didn't want her to be allowed to stay with you anymore so I sent her away."

"Why?" Elizabeth asked, puzzled. "Was she naughty?" Lady Bryan often scolded Mary and said that she was badly behaved and ungrateful and other unpleasant things but she had never sent her away from Hatfield, even when she didn't do as she was told or spoke back to Lady Bryan, which none of the ladies were supposed to do because Lady Bryan was in charge and, after Elizabeth, the most important person at Hatfield. Mary must have been very naughty for Papa to decide that she couldn't be allowed to be one of Elizabeth's ladies any more. Elizabeth's ladies were very lucky to be allowed to serve her. It was a very special honour because she was the Princess and the most important lady in England apart from Mama so for Mary to lose her place was an awful punishment.

"She was very naughty." Henry agreed grimly, his eyes darkening with anger at the thought of what his daughter had done. "She did one of the wickedest things that a person could do; she tried to have somebody hurt your Mama, and even baby Harry before he was born."

"That's bad!" Elizabeth exclaimed, horrified. She put her arms around her mother's neck and hugged her tightly, kissing her cheek to make up for what Mary had done to her. "Are you alright now?" She asked anxiously, feeling very angry with Mary for trying to hurt her Mama and her baby brother.

"I'm fine, darling," Anne reassured her. "Dr Linacre made sure that Harry and I were both safe."

"Good." Elizabeth was satisfied by this reassurance but she still snuck glances at her mother, trying to see if there was any sign that she was still hurt. "And Mary's gone for always?" Mary might have been kind to her when they were at Hatfield but if she was going to hurt her Mama, Elizabeth didn't want her to ever be allowed to come back. She never wanted to see her again.

"Yes." Henry answered firmly, his reassurance directed more at Anne than at Elizabeth. "Mary is never going to be allowed to come near our family again."

* * *

The chapel at the More was a tiny one but it was big enough for Mary and her small household and it was there they gathered every morning and twice on Sundays to hear Mass.

In a way, it was a comfort of sorts to pray in the same chapel that her mother would have prayed in, to draw solace from God and from her faith as her mother had surely done throughout her years of exile. From childhood, Mary's mother told her that no matter what trials she might endure during her life, there was great comfort to be taken from prayer and from the knowledge that God would always be there to guide and protect her.

Of course, her mother could never have predicted the trials that they would be expected to face, not in those happy, golden days when she was loved and respected by her husband, her Sir Loyal Heart, and when her daughter was the adored pearl of her father's world, as dearly loved as any child could hope to be, even though she had disappointed him by not being the boy he longed for.

That was before Anne.

Mary cursed the day that that woman had returned to England, wishing that Thomas Boleyn could have decided to leave his daughter in King Francis' court, where she could do no harm, and to marry her off to a French nobleman, preferably a man of years and sense who could keep that harlot under stern control. She was convinced that her mother would still be alive and healthy if her husband had never heard the name 'Anne Boleyn', much less thought to make the upstart his wife. She would be happy, still beloved by her husband and honoured as Queen, as she ought to be, and she would probably be looking forward to the arrival of her first grandchild, if Mary had not already made her a grandmother by now.

Mary knew that her chances of becoming a wife and mother were slim now and that they would have been even if she wasn't falsely accused and exiled, shut away where nobody but her small household could see her. When she was a young child, she was one of the most sought-after royal brides in Europe, courted from the cradle and expected to become the future Queen of France or Holy Roman Empress. Although, if she was given a choice, she would have preferred the latter – the Dauphin of France was such a rude boy, brushing away her kiss as though it contaminated him, while the Emperor Charles was kind and charming, despite the difference in their ages – she would have been content to marry whichever prince or monarch her father chose for her, having been taught since babyhood that it was a princess's duty to make the best marriage possible for her country, regardless of her personal preferences and her feelings towards her prospective suitors.

Her Aunt Margaret was the exception to the rule in that regard, making her feelings about her aged future bridegroom plain and seizing the opportunity, once the King of Portugal died, to marry Charles Brandon, without even getting permission from her brother and monarch.

Once proceedings for the annulment began, the offers from potential suitors were no longer forthcoming, especially once the trial commenced. Mary's status came into question and no ruler was willing to allow his son to be betrothed to a girl who might either be a Princess of England and the King's rightful heiress or just another royal bastard. The question of Mary's marriage and future therefore had to be shelved until the pope made his ruling regarding the validity of her parents' union and, by extension, her legitimacy, and he was very reluctant to commit to a decision, not wanting to risk antagonizing either the King of England or the Holy Roman Emperor by siding with one over the other and choosing instead to allow the case to drag on for years.

Perhaps he had hoped that her father would drop the issue of his own accord once he realized that obtaining the annulment he sought would be far more difficult than he anticipated but Mary believed that the delay had only strengthened his resolve; instead of tiring of Anne, he became more and more determined to possess her, whatever the cost. Had the pope ruled in favour of the marriage when the case was first brought to his attention, Mary was sure that her father would have seen sense and returned to his marriage, maybe making Anne his mistress for a short time before discarding her but the delay made him angry and unwilling to yield.

Pope Clement had never issued a ruling. He managed to delay the issue for so long that he died before the conclusion of the case, leaving his successor, Pope Paul, to inherit the problem and, while he was not as much of a procrastinator as Clement, he also delayed in making a final judgement on the so-called 'Great Matter'.

He eventually passed judgement in favour of Mary's mother, pronouncing her marriage valid and its issue legitimate, but by then it was too late to do her any good. She had not been allowed to see her husband or her daughter for years, she was stripped of the honours and comforts she should have had as the rightful Queen of England, was banished in this place and left isolated, and she was dying a lingering, painful death.

Mary was convinced that poison had ended her mother's life, poison administered either by natural means by one of the harlot's creatures or by unnatural means, by witchcraft, at her own hand. It was ironic that Mary herself was accused of conspiring to poison the woman who insisted on calling herself the Queen of England and that this accusation led to her imprisonment and to a rapid, dramatic decline in her popularity with the people when, if anybody was a poisoner, it was Anne herself and she was attracting more sympathy and support than ever in the wake of the attempt on her life and the birth of her son.

She was not even allowed to be with her mother when she died, despite the fact that Ambassador Chapuys had relayed her mother's pleas for her daughter's company during her final days to her father, hoping that he would possess enough kindness for the woman who had loved him for so long and for his own child to allow them that small consolation but he had not.

Mary was not even allowed to go to her funeral.

It was typical of Anne's malice that she would insist that the King should deny them that, Mary thought contemptuously. She must have a heart made of stone or of ice rather than one of human flesh. What human woman could be capable of such cruelty towards a dying mother and her grieving daughter?

It was a wonder that she was willing to allow Mary to receive her mother's last letter, together with the trinkets she had left to leave her daughter; her furs, the few pieces of jewellery that she was allowed to retain after she was forced to surrender the Queen's jewels, her rightful property, in order to appease Anne's vanity, pieces of little material value but that were priceless to Mary because they were once her mother's… and the bull issued by the pope, pronouncing judgement on the Great Matter.

They had taken that from her at Hatfield, on her father's orders, relayed through Master Cromwell, who had sent her a curt letter informing her that, as the verdict of the Bishop of Rome held no weight under English law, the document was meaningless and it was treason for her to possess it.

She was never told what they intended to do with it but it didn't matter.

They could lock it away in a chest where nobody would ever see it again, they could tear it to pieces or they could burn it and toss the ashes in the Thames but they could not change the fact that it was issued, that His Holiness had reached a verdict and that he had declared in her mother's favour. They could not change the fact that, in the eyes of God, Katherine of Aragon was the true, legitimate wife of King Henry and the Queen of England until the day she died and that Mary herself was the rightful princess and heiress to the throne, while Anne was nothing more than the King's mistress and the mother of two bastards.

Despite Mary's best efforts to tune out the priest's words, she couldn't shut her ears to his exhortation that they pray for the King, for his beloved wife, Queen Anne, and for the Prince Henry and the Princess Elizabeth, beseeching God to grant long, healthy and prosperous lives to the four of them, the royal family. She kept her mouth resolutely shut as the rest of her household chorused "Amen" in response, ignoring the mutterings of her household, who whispered that she was petty and spiteful. She didn't begrudge her father her prayers, or her little half-siblings; she prayed for them during her private devotions but she couldn't apply the titles of Prince or Princess to Anne's children.

She loved Elizabeth and she was sure that she would love baby Henry if she was ever allowed to see him but they were illegitimate, the children of her father's mistress. She couldn't pretend that they were trueborn or that the titles they were given were theirs by right.

She _wouldn't_.

She hoped that this had not been made a part of the Mass service when her mother was alive and living here. She would have taken great consolation from her faith during those miserable years so it would have been cruel for that consolation to be marred by daily prayers for her rival, the woman who stole her husband's love and usurped her rightful place.

The service was in English now, as all religious services were now required to be, and Mary missed the familiar, comforting Latin words. At Anne's urging, her father yielded and insisted that the Mass was conducted in English and copies of Tyndale's English Bible, once a forbidden book, the possession of which could lead to a heresy charge, were widely available. Anne was reputed to keep a copy in her rooms for her attendants to read at their leisure and when Mary requested that she be supplied with a Bible, she was not given the Latin one she asked for but one of Tyndale's.

Her father was a changed man and, though she loved him, Mary could not deny that.

He had once been the Church's most pious, most devoted son, a man whose passionate defence of the papacy against the Lutheran heresies had earned him the pope's gratitude and led to him being named Defender of the Faith.

Anne's poison had seeped into his soul, destroying him from within and now he was as much a heretic as those against whom he had once written, now he was dragging all of England down the path of heresy with him.

To make matters worse, Mary knew that he would see the birth of baby Henry as a reward for his actions in separating from his wife and from the true Church, as confirmation of the invalidity of his marriage to her mother and the validity of his union with Anne. After all he had done, he wasn't punished. Instead, he got what he wanted.

Why?

Why would God confirm her father's view of the rightness of his actions by giving him what he wanted instead of withholding His favour to show him the error of his ways?

Why would He deny a son to her mother, who was so good and so pious and who needed one so badly in order to safeguard her position and keep her husband's love and choose to give Anne a son instead, ensuring England's continuing slide towards heresy?

If baby Henry lived, he would be King one day, especially now that Mary was looked on as a would-be murderer of a helpless woman and an innocent child.

Was this part of God's plan?

How could it be?

Surely God would want _Mary_ to be Queen. Surely He would want her to restore the true faith to England, reversing the damage her father and Anne had done and bringing the country back into the community of the Church in Rome and submission to the Holy Father.

Was He testing her?

Was He sending her these trials to strengthen her, so that through her suffering, her faith would grow stronger and truer, allowing her to be the kind of Queen that England needed, a Queen who could guide her people back to the true path, away from the perils of heresy and the destruction it would surely bring?

She had to believe that He was.

She had to have faith that she would one day be Queen, as her mother had promised she would, as she knew she was destined to be.

After the service was concluded, she stayed on her knees for hours afterwards, never noticing when the others left, or when Lady Margaret returned in the early afternoon to let her know that it was time for dinner.

Time lost all meaning as she prayed and it wasn't until she was finished and rose from her knees, looking out the narrow, many-paned window and seeing that the sky was darkening, that she realized how long it had been.

**_11th July 1536_ **

Midsummer's Day, the longest day of the year and a day on which a festival was traditionally held at court, a joyous day of celebration, when the Great Hall would be decorated with flowers and strewn with rose petals and the ladies of the court would dress in their most brightly coloured gowns, dancing about the Hall like butterflies until night fall, had been a very quiet feast day this year. As on May Day, Queen Anne's absence led to many of the usual entertainments being cancelled but, as if to make up for it, today was to be a day of great rejoicing, with jousting tournaments in the morning, elaborate masques in the afternoon and a sumptuous banquet, all in the Queen's honour.

Today, six weeks after Prince Harry's birth, Queen Anne was churched and allowed to leave the confines of her quarters to rejoin a court that was eager to welcome her back and to thank her for giving England a future King.

Tomorrow, Jane was expected to leave the court and return to Wolf Hall.

For today, she was to absent herself from the celebrations, for fear that her presence would mar the Queen's joy on her special day.

The King had not even spoken to her himself about his wishes – and, while it hurt that he wanted to hide her like a shameful secret, Jane would have understood that he wanted to spare Anne the pain and discomfort of seeing her rival today, of all days. Instead, he had spoken to her brother, who delivered the message in calm, measured tones, patting her shoulder in an awkward attempt at sympathy before he left to join the celebrations, leaving her alone.

The King had no spoken to her since that day when she gave herself to him, the day that Prince Harry was born. He had not sent her any letters or trinkets or asked her father or brother for news about how she was faring.

He blamed her.

He had been willing – more than willing – to go along with her suggestion, lavishly promising her that he would make sure that their union remained a secret as long as she wanted it to and that she would never regret her decision but after he missed the birth of his son and came so close to being discovered, he resented her for that, blaming her for tempting him away from the palace at such a time.

Anybody would think that he had been forced to the hunting lodge against his will!

She lay back on her narrow bed, her hand straying to her abdomen as she shut her eyes.

She had missed her courses, twice.

Last month, she told herself that it meant nothing, that women could often miss a month without it meaning anything, especially when they were under strain. She blamed her fatigue and her nausea on unhappiness: the King had not shared her bed or sought out her private company since that day, the day when Prince Harry was born.

It was only once… but sometimes once was all it took.

Now, the week in which her courses were due came and went without any sign of her monthly bleeding and there could be no denying it.

She was carrying the King's child.

She was carrying the King's child but there was no chance of him being able to marry her and legitimise their son, not now.

Her baby would be born a bastard, albeit a royal bastard, and despite the discretion surrounding her bedding the King, all the efforts they made to conceal that development in their relationship would be for nothing. They could hide the fact that they had been lovers – so far, only the King, the Duke of Suffolk, two grooms, Jane herself and her father and brother knew about that – but a pregnancy and a baby would be another matter. Even if Jane returned to the country, her condition could not be hidden forever and once it became known that she was pregnant, everybody would be able to guess the identity of the father.

As pleased as she was to think that she would have a child, a child fathered by the man she loved, to love and care for, she couldn't help but fear for the future. The King loved his illegitimate son, Henry Fitzroy, very much, lavishing him with titles and estates when he was still a little child and honouring him above all others, even Princess Mary. He would surely want to be generous to Jane's son too but would Queen Anne allow that?

She would surely never stomach a potential rival for Prince Harry and her family could be dangerous opponents when they were crossed. The King would never allow his own child to be harmed but if, God forbid, he died and Queen Anne was left as Regent for Prince Harry, with the Earl of Wiltshire as Lord Protector, they would have the power to do whatever they wished to Jane and to her baby.

They might not harm him but they would take him away from her, to be brought up in one of the royal manors, under their supervision and their control, just in case somebody might champion his cause as King in Prince Harry's stead.

She joined both hands over her abdomen, imagining what it would be like to feel the baby quicken within her, to feel it kick and then to hold it in her arms, inwardly vowing to protect it as long as she had breath in her body.

Nobody was going to harm her child.

But what about her?

What would become of her?

Lady Blount was married when she bore the King's son and her husband was generously compensated for his cooperation. Jane was unmarried and, while she did not doubt that the King and her father would be able to find a man who was willing to marry her, despite the fact that she was no longer a virgin and despite the fact that she would be the mother of another man's bastard, she couldn't help but worry about the kind of man who would be willing to take on such a wife, who could be reconciled to the idea of a bride who did not come to him as virtuous maiden if he was rewarded with sufficient land or gold.

That was not the kind of man she would want for a husband!

She hadn't told anybody yet, not even the King or her father but her condition would not be able to remain a secret many months longer.

Would they be pleased or angry?

Would the baby be seen as a blessing or as a burden?

What was going to happen to them?

She had so many questions but no answers.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**_18th August 1536_ **

After the execution of Eustace Chapuys, the position of Imperial ambassador to England was not a sought-after one, with fewer men than ever willing to undertake the task, regardless of the salary and the allowances offered.

The way an ambassador was treated in the court in which he was posted depended heavily on the goodwill of the foreign monarch towards their master. If relations between the two countries were good, the ambassador would be honoured, provided with all the comforts he could ask for and when the foreign monarch wished to enter into a friendship with their master, they would find themselves feted and courted, in the hopes that they would advocate the desired alliance when they made their reports. However, if relations were bad, then the ambassador would be among the first to pay the price, treated with coldness and scorn and heaped with insults and indignities in recompense for a slight on their master's part, true or perceived.

During the years of the King's Great Matter, there were few men who would have been willing to accept the posting, knowing as they did that it was the King of England's earnest desire to annul his marriage to Katherine of Aragon, aunt to the Emperor, and that as ambassador, it would be there duty to counsel and advise the unhappy Queen, something that was bound to earn them the enmity of the King.

Mendoza had acted as Imperial ambassador to England for two years, acting as friend and advisor to Queen Katherine and offering her his assistance however he could, using his status as a diplomat to help her smuggle letters to the Emperor when she found her usual channels of communication blocked by Cardinal Wolsey, who was determined to see to it that the King's matter was settled to his satisfaction so that he could preserve his own position, and he always made himself available to lend a sympathetic ear when the Queen needed somebody in whom to confide, ensuring that the Emperor was kept fully abreast of all new developments so that he would be able to step in and assist his aunt when necessary.

He had not liked leaving Queen Katherine but, at the same time, he did feel a measure of relief when his request to be recalled was granted and he was replaced with the ill-fated Chapuys.

Now that Chapuys had been executed, Mendoza found himself called upon once more to act as ambassador to England. Although the offer of the position was couched as a request rather than a command, he knew that refusal was not an option. The diplomatic situation in Europe was a fragile one and an experienced man would be needed to weather the storm, ensuring that the Kings of England and France did not ally with one another against the Emperor, something that would be disastrous for Spain, and preferably securing a lasting friendship between the King of England and the Emperor, no easy task under the present circumstances.

These days, the English posting was more uncomfortable than ever. Knowing how strongly Chapuys believed in Queen Katherine's cause and that of the Princess Mary, and how much he despised the King's Concubine, Anne Boleyn, Mendoza was not surprised that he had been driven to try to destroy the woman, together with the child she carried. The years of his posting must have been horribly difficult for Chapuys, as he was forced to watch the King go to extraordinary lengths to set his good wife aside and raise the Lady Anne in her place.

Once the Queen was sent away and the King pretended a marriage with Anne, crowning her Queen in Katherine's stead, it would have been worse than ever for Chapuys, as diplomacy would have obliged him to treat the woman he saw as a harlot, as nothing more than the King's mistress and a pretender to the throne, with the respect and deference due to a true consort, concealing his feelings towards her as best he could.

Before he departed for England, he was summoned for an audience with the Emperor, to receive his instructions for his mission, instructions that could not be committed to paper.

While the Emperor knew that the restoration of Princess Mary would not be possible now that she had a half-brother, especially when she was known to have conspired in the attempted murder of her stepmother, family duty would not allow him to abandon her entirely. Mendoza was therefore to do his utmost to ensure that, at the very least, she was being well treated, as befitted a King's daughter and, if possible, to obtain permission to visit her. The Emperor freely acknowledged that it was unlikely that he or anybody else would be able to persuade the King to forgive his daughter but instructed that if there was any sign that his feelings towards Princess Mary were softening, he should encourage it.

Acknowledging Queen Anne was not optional.

That point was made abundantly clear.

The Emperor had pledged his support to the continuation of the marriage and he intended to keep his word, regardless of his personal feelings on the subject and Mendoza was therefore under strict orders not to offend or snub the lady in any way and to ensure that he treated her with at least as much courtesy and deference as the French envoys, and those from other royal courts did, unless he received instructions to the contrary from his master.

The marriages of both the Princess Elizabeth and the infant Prince of Wales were also of grave concern; King Francis was negotiating over the marriage of his youngest son, the Duke of Angouleme, who had moved a step closer to the throne following the death of the Dauphin a fortnight past, to the Princess and while he fortunately had no daughter young enough to be a suitable bride for the Prince, his second son was married and might father a daughter who could become Queen of England, reinforcing England's ties to France.

That was something that could not be allowed and to prevent it, the Emperor was even contemplating proposing a marriage between his son and heir, Prince Philip, and Princess Elizabeth, and between his younger daughter, the Infanta Juana, and the Prince of Wales. Such a step was not one that he would have considered lightly, given his family ties to Queen Katherine and to Princess Mary but the prospect of French marriages for the English royal children was incentive enough for him to entertain the idea. Should the Prince of Wales be married to a French princess, while his sister was married to a French prince, England and France would be bound by one of the strongest ties possible, providing both countries with a bulwark against the Emperor, who would much prefer to secure such an alliance between England and Spain, even if it did mean that he must marry his son and daughter to children whose legitimacy he had questioned, offspring of a marriage he had once fought against.

Like all ambassadors, he was required to present his credentials to the King upon his arrival and the Lord Chancellor, who preferred to be known as plain Master Cromwell, despite his high office, had promised to arrange an audience for him, so Mendoza was now waiting in an antechamber outside the room the King used as a study, grateful that the privacy of the small room shielded him from the curious stares of the courtiers and the whispered speculation about the arrival of a new Imperial ambassador and about how he would behave around Queen Anne.

One reason that Mendoza was thankful that he had not held the post of ambassador following the banishment of Queen Katherine from the court and the ascension of her rival and supplanter was that it meant that he had never been called upon to dance attendance on the lady. During his years at the English court, although he was well aware of the fact that the King fully intended that Mistress Boleyn should be his Queen once he was granted his annulment, he was able to avoid acknowledging the young woman in any way.

Now, however, he would have to greet her with all deference and honour, for his master's sake. Queen Anne was already in favour of French interests rather than Spanish, a fact that the King of France was aware of and that he was taking full advantage of, cultivating the lady in all ways. He was the one chosen to act as godfather to the little Prince, not the Emperor, and he had professed himself to be delighted by the honour, showering his infant godson with rich gifts and inviting the King and Queen to visit him in France.

King Francis already enjoyed a great advantage over the Emperor when it came to friendship with England and it was up to Mendoza to see to it that his master was promoted wherever possible, to keep his eyes open and his ear to the ground so that he would be ready to seize the opportunity if he heard any whisper of dissatisfaction on the King's part regarding a French alliance and to help to secure an alliance with England against France.

He suspected, however, that this would be easier said than done and his suspicions were confirmed when, before he was invited in for his audience with the King, Jean de Bellay, the French ambassador emerged, clearly in high good humour and not in the least bit troubled by the sight of his Spanish counterpart.

Bellay nodded by way of greeting, the smallest and smuggest of smiles tugging at the corners of his mouth as he exited the antechamber. Master Cromwell had followed him out of the King's study and he inclined his head in Mendoza's direction, indicating that he should accompany him into the study.

"His Excellency, Ambassador Mendoza, Your Majesty." He announced formally, despite the fact that the King was well aware of Mendoza's identity.

"Thank you, Master Cromwell." The King waved to dismiss his chancellor, waiting until the man had left the room before turning his attention to Mendoza, moving forward to embrace him, kissing him ceremoniously on one cheek. "Ambassador. I hope that your journey was a pleasant one? And that you were not kept waiting long?" Although his words were solicitous, his tone was perfunctory, making it plain that he was far from interested in the answers to the questions.

Mendoza suspected that either he or Master Cromwell had deliberately chosen to time this meeting so that he was kept waiting and so that he could not fail to notice that the French ambassador had been received before he was, as a pointed reminder of the fact that the King considered the French to be truer, more loyal allies than the Spanish, but he was too experienced to allow a trace of irritation or concern to show in his expression so his smile and tone were pleasant and friendly as he responded.

"A very pleasant journey, Your Majesty," he agreed, side-stepping the question of his wait, bowing and presenting his credentials with a flourish. "The Emperor sends you his warmest greetings and it is my very great pleasure to be a guest in your court once more." He lied. "I hope that I will soon have the honour of an audience with your wife, Queen Anne?" He queried, smiling as though this would be the greatest possible pleasure that he could ever hope for during his time in England, instead of an unpleasant necessity that he dreaded and that only his duty could prompt him to agree to.

Henry smiled his approval, pleased to see that the ambassador and, by extension, the Emperor he represented, were openly acknowledging Anne as his wife and as Queen of England. If there was to be any alliance between the two countries, this was a point on which he would stand firm and accept no possible compromise. He would not ally with any man, not even the Emperor, if he was not prepared to accept Anne's rightful place in his life.

"I am sure that the Queen would be pleased to receive you," he agreed, accepting the proffered credentials. He gave them only the most cursory of glances, knowing that it was not necessary to examine them. "Just as I am sure that, with your help, our two countries will be able to forge a true and lasting friendship."

"I hope so, Your Majesty."

Henry said no more, his body language indicating that, as far as he was concerned, the interview, brief as it was, was at an end but Mendoza was not ready to leave yet, not without speaking of the one issue that was uppermost in his mind, the issue that he knew the King would never broach himself.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," he began in his most placating tone. "I speak for myself now, not for the Emperor."

"What is it?" Henry demanded curtly, his good mood evaporating. Although he knew exactly what Mendoza would want to speak of, he had no intention of making it easy for the other man, or of softening his reaction. If the man was going to serve as ambassador in his court, then it was best that he knew, here and now, that he was not going to be pushed on this matter.

"As I am certain Your Majesty will remember, it was my honour to serve as ambassador between my country and yours when Your Majesty's Great Matter first began," he said cautiously, knowing that he was taking a risk by bringing up such a sore issue. "It was then that I came to know the Infanta Katherine," he could not refer to her as Queen, as that would ensure that Henry would not be prepared to listen to a word he said, but he also could not bring himself to refer to her as the Princess Dowager of Wales so he compromised, referring to her by the title that was hers by right as a Princess of Spain, inwardly praying that if she could hear him from Heaven, she would forgive him for denying her her rightful title as Queen. "For her sake, knowing how dearly she loved her daughter, I was hoping that it might be possible for me to pay a visit to the Lady Mary and..."

"Out of the question." Henry told him curtly. "The Lady Mary is not permitted to receive visitors, on my express orders."

"But surely an exception could be made, for my peace of mind and..."

"Is this your master's new game?" Henry demanded angrily. "Am I to believe that for all his show of friendship, he still sides with my bastard daughter and plans to advance her interests? Does he hope to force me into declaring her my legitimate heir or does he wish to smuggle her out of England and proclaim her Princess of England from the safety of Spain, perhaps to launch an invasion on her behalf to overthrow me, England's rightful sovereign, and set my daughter up as a pretender? Should I assume that he condones her involvement in the attempt on my Queen's life?"

"No, Your Majesty, I was merely..." Alarmed by the storm he had unleashed, Mendoza hastily back-pedalled, hoping to placate Henry.

"Or was he involved?" Henry continued furiously, not listening to him. "I did not believe him to be capable of such an evil but perhaps I was mistaken. Was I?"

"No, Your Majesty, the Emperor wholeheartedly condemns the actions taken by Chapuys and by the Lady Mary." Mendoza hastened to assure him. "He has never denied that it was your right to bring Chapuys to trial and to punish him according to your laws," he reminded tentatively, knowing that Henry would be aware of what a concession it was for a monarch to turn his envoy over to another ruler for punishment instead of demanding that he be sent back to him, regardless of the circumstances.

"And does he agree that it is only by my mercy that the Lady Mary was not made to stand trial for her crimes, for which the penalty is death?" Henry asked, determined to hammer his point home and to leave no question in the other man's mind that, whatever issues he raised, now or in the future, the subject of Mary should be left well alone.

"It says much of Your Majesty's mercy, and of your fatherly love."

If Mendoza hoped that this would be enough to calm Henry's anger, he was doomed to be disappointed. Losing what little patience he retained, Henry let out a muttered oath and pushed past the other man, stalking out of the room and out into the main hall, ignoring the courtiers who clamoured for his attention as he passed, not really registering who was speaking, apart from one man.

"Your Majesty?" Edward Seymour bowed low as he approached, an uncharacteristically troubled expression on his face. "If I might beg a few minutes audience with you, the matter is an urgent one..."

"Not now!" Henry barked impatiently at him, not giving him a chance to utter another word before he hastened away.

Conscious of the fact that the other courtiers were staring at him, curious about what could have put so worried an expression on the face of a man who was reputed to be a very cold fish, Edward made a determined effort to school his face into its customary expressionless mask, determined not to allow any hint of what he was feeling to show. The Seymour family might be enduring a crisis of sorts, unsure which way to turn, but that was no reason for him to let the rest of the court know what was happening.

God knew that they would find out soon enough.

Despite his hard-won outward calm, however, he was still nervous enough to all but jump out of his skin when a hand was laid on his shoulder.

"Master Seymour?" Brandon's expression betrayed his concern and curiousity. "Is something wrong?"

Edward regarded the other man for a moment, debating over whether or not he ought to speak. The Seymours had been persona non grata for the King over the past weeks, unable to get his attention or to win an audience with him, despite the fact that they were very much in favour a matter of months ago. While he disliked the idea of confiding so personal a matter in anybody not directly concerned with the issue, he was realist. The King needed to be told and if he was not going to be willing to listen to what Edward had to say, then somebody else would have to be enlisted to relay the news, somebody who had the King's ear and Charles Brandon was certainly secure enough in his friendship and favour to be able to bring up so delicate a matter.

After a short pause while he decided if he should speak, he finally nodded, keeping his voice low. "Yes. Yes, there is."

* * *

The August sun was high in the sky when Henry walked out into the gardens, scorning the company of courtiers and grooms as he walked down the pathways, the warmth of the day and the scent of the last of the summer roses combining to help him relax, to clear his mind of the vexing thoughts that Mendoza's visit had roused within him and to help him view the matter in a clearer light.

It was to be expected that Mendoza would attempt to convince him to allow him to visit Mary. For all his present show of willingness to greet Anne as the Queen of England, Henry knew that the man had been devoted to Katherine, working tirelessly on her behalf during the Great Matter – he suspected that he could thank Mendoza, at least in part, for some of the obstacles placed in his path during the trial. Despite Wolsey's best efforts to see to it that Katherine was unable to communicate with her nephew, even his network of spies was unable to block her channels of communication altogether and it was likely that it was through Mendoza, whose status ensured that his belongings could never be searched for fear of causing an affront to his master, that she was able to smuggle her letters to the Emperor, and it had been the pressure he placed on the pope... the Bishop of Rome, that had prompted Clement to withdraw him permission for the matter to be judged in England, and just before Campeggio and Wolsey were about to find in Henry's favour!

As infuriating as it was to think that, but for this interference, he and Anne might have been able to be together with the blessing of the Bishop of Rome, which would have meant that the validity of their union and the legitimacy of their children would be unchallenged, three years or more before they were finally married, Henry could not help but be somewhat impressed over Mendoza's loyalty, and envious of Katherine for enjoying the benefits of that loyalty.

It was natural that the man who had been so determined and devoted a servant of Katherine's would wish to spare a thought for her daughter, to see to it that Mary was being treated as well as she could possibly expect to be treated, under the circumstances, and it would do no harm if he was able to send word back to the Emperor that his cousin was safe and healthy and being well-cared for, to make sure that he knew how generous he had been when it came to Mary's treatment, despite what she had done.

Perhaps a visit could be arranged, provided that it was properly supervised to ensure that Mary had no opportunity to send illicit messages. It could not happen immediately of course – it would never do for Henry to change his mind so quickly and allow permission so soon after he had dismissed the idea of a visit – but perhaps in a few months time, or a little longer, he would allow it.

After walking in the gardens for about half an hour or so, he felt much calmer and when he saw a small party sitting ahead, his smile was genuine as he approached them, a lightness in his step that had not been there for quite some time, since before his jousting accident.

Elizabeth was the first to spot him and, evading Lady Bryan's restraining hands, she ran down the path towards him, giggling in delight when he swept her up into his arms, swinging her around.

"Papa! Papa!"

"My Elizabeth!" Holding her high above his head and spinning her around once more, he set her on his feet, laughing when she staggered slightly, dizzied by the rapid motion, and reaching out a hand to steady her. The hem of her yellow silk gown bore several grass stains, indicating that she had been playing outside for quite some time, and somebody had crowned her with a wreath of flowers, which was lopsided after her run and after being spun around. Kneeling down in front of her, he gently straightened the wreath. "Is this your new crown, my precious?" He asked with an indulgent smile, gladly accepting her hugs and kisses.

Elizabeth nodded vigorously, knocking the wreath askew once more. "Yes – come and see." She instructed him, waiting for him to stand before taking him by the hand and leading him down the path, to where Anne was sitting in the company of two of her ladies-in-waiting, along with several of the children's attendants.

Anne looked up at him with a smile of welcome as he approached and the other ladies in attendance all hastily rose as Henry approached, curtseying deeply before withdrawing to a discreet distance to allow them a measure of privacy. Baby Harry was lying on a large silk cushion at Anne's side, kicking his chubby legs and revelling in the free movement. He was wearing a short white gown and a matching cap and his tiny feet were bare. A canopy shielded them both from the sun's rays and there was a basket of freshly cut flowers set to one side, from which they had been making wreathes like the one Elizabeth was wearing.

After leaning down to brush a kiss against Anne's lips, Henry sat down on one of the vacant cushions next to her, holding his arms out to Elizabeth who settled in his lap happily, her expression showing the true pride of an older sister in a beloved brother as she looked down at Harry, who gurgled at her by way of greeting.

"He's smiling!" She exclaimed, delighted. "He knows me."

"Of course he does, darling." Anne assured her. "You're his big sister and he loves you."

"I love him too." Elizabeth said, beaming down at her baby brother.

Henry reached out to let Harry grasp one of his fingers and he was slightly taken aback by the strength of his grip. Although he saw his son every day, usually at least several times a day, he always found himself surprised by how fast he seemed to be growing and how healthy he clearly was. Looking at the chubby, gurgling infant kicking gleefully on the cushion, it was difficult to believe that less than seven months ago, they had almost lost him, and his mother too.

They were lucky that Harry had survived at all but for him to be so healthy and strong was a miracle, and one that Henry could not be thankful enough for.

At eleven weeks, Harry showed no signs of having been affected in the slightest by the strain Anne was under while she was carrying him or by the poison Brereton had used to try to murder mother and son. He was a beautiful, vigorous baby, already bright and taking notice of the world around him.

When he was formally pronounced Prince of Wales last week, it seemed like the whole of London turned out to celebrate and those who caught a glimpse of him were able to see that he was as fine a boy as any father or mother could ever wish for.

Anne's recovery was slower but she too seemed to have taken no permanent harm from everything that had happened to her and Dr Linacre promised that by the end of the year, she would be as healthy as she had ever been. Her spirits had recovered too, as though Harry's safe arrival had acted as a balm for her, Henry thought.

It was a long time since he had seen her so openly happy and seeing the joy she took from their children's presence, he was glad that he had yielded to her request to allow Elizabeth and Harry to remain with them at court a little longer. He had originally intended that they should have gone to Hatfield by now but Anne had asked that they be allowed to remain until after the celebrations in honour of Elizabeth's third birthday and he had agreed, glad of the excuse to keep them nearby a little longer and to enjoy the pleasure of their company.

He would have been able to deny her very little, Henry thought with an indulgent smile, watching her lean forward to check on little Harry and seeing her face light up at the sight of the wide, gummy smile he favoured her with. She had given him all that he could ever have asked for.

This was what he had wanted.

When he asked Anne to marry him, he had a picture like this in his mind when he imagined what their future would be like once he was free to be with the woman he loved. He pictured the two of them together, happy, with their children playing nearby; a son like him, a future King of England, and a daughter as beautiful as her mother.

It was all he wanted, all he could ever ask for, and Anne had given it to him.

They had had their problems. Even if he wanted to, Henry could not deny that, but he was certain that most, if not all of those problems could be traced back to the many hardships and difficulties that they were forced to endure as half the world, it seemed, conspired to keep them from marrying and being happy together.

If Katherine had only seen sense, recognized the invalidity of their marriage and been willing to allow him justice, even if the loss of the title of Queen was a blow to her pride, then nobody would have been able to make the mistake of thinking that their marriage was invalid. When Elizabeth was born, she would have been accepted as his rightful heiress, at least until Harry was born, and there would have been no need for the administration of the Oath of Succession to secure her rights and therefore no need for anybody to die because of their obstinate refusal to take the Oath. Henry would not have had to fear the prospect of a war with the Emperor and he would not have had to deal with King Francis alternating between acknowledging Anne as Queen and Elizabeth as a legitimate princess and a suitable bride for one of his sons, and then snubbing Anne, through his ambassadors while repudiating Elizabeth on the grounds that she was not accepted as legitimate by the Bishop of Rome or by the Emperor.

He had been unkind to Anne.

He could see that now.

Everything that was happening weighed heavily on him. He had not wanted to kill anybody yet it had proven necessary to kill in order to protect Anne's rights and those of their daughter... but that was not Anne's fault.

She was not to blame for Clement's cowardice, for Wolsey's incompetence in dealing with the Great Matter, for Katherine's obstinacy or for the Emperor's interference, or for what had happened as a result of these. Like him, she had only ever wanted to be able to be married and to have children – a woman's greatest consolation in life, she once called them – and it was no more her fault that they were not allowed justice than it was his.

His anger towards those who stood against them was justified but it was wrong for him to take that anger out on Anne.

And then there was Jane...

He had been fond of Jane, he did not deny that. Compared to Anne's independence, her fiery, passionate nature and her keen wits, Jane's shy, modest ways were a welcome contrast, just as her golden hair and milk-fair prettiness was a contrast to Anne's dark, striking, vibrant beauty. Anne could be an enigma, and even after knowing her for years, she sometimes seemed as much of a mystery to him as the day he first laid eyes on her whereas Jane was an open book, her emotions shining from her face. She admired him wholeheartedly and he had to admit that it was nice to admired thus, to see the awe and devotion shining in her eyes when she looked at him.

She had seemed like such a pure maiden, like something out of a fairy tale or a legend from the days long past, a lovely, gentle Guinevere to whom it was an honour to play Lancelot. Although he had enjoyed it, that one time when they had bedded together, it was still something of a disappointment to learn that his Guinevere was a woman, like any other, one who could yield to temptation and lie with a man who was not her husband, despite her the cloak of virtue she had worn earlier.

Because of Jane, he was not in the palace when Harry was born, leading the courtiers to speculate about where their King could possibly be and what he could be doing that he was not there at such an important time and, if it had not been for Brandon's quick thinking and their hard ride back, Anne would have realized that he had been gone and guessed what he was doing, something that would have marred her happiness, on a day when she should have felt nothing but joy.

Even if he had still been able to enjoy his chaste friendship with Jane, he would have had to send her away. Her presence at court could only ever serve as a continuing source of pain to Anne, who had almost lost their child, their precious son because of her. Even if he still cared for Jane, he could never forget that.

Jane was gone, like others who acted as a barrier to their happiness.

Katherine was dead now and could no longer pretend to the title of Queen, even in exile, her feigned martyrdom causing people to resent Anne, as though she was to blame for the fact that Katherine was too proud and too stubborn to see reason. They did not need to worry about the possibility of the Emperor waging war on England to champion his aunt's supposed rights – in fact, Charles had already swallowed his pride and acknowledged Anne as Queen of England, and Harry and Elizabeth as prince and princess.

Brereton and Chapuys, vipers in the nest at court, ruthless men who had conspired against Anne and sought her death, had paid for their crimes with their lives and Mary, their co-conspirator, was far away where she could do no more harm.

Maybe now they could go back to the way things once were, before Mary tried to have Anne murdered, before the executions of More and Fisher, before they lost their second child, before Anne learned about his first mistress, Eleanor Luke, before Elizabeth was born and he felt disappointment over her sex, before the day of Anne's coronation, when the silence in the streets showed him that his people would not be prepared to accept and love their new Queen, no matter how much he wanted them to, before everything that had happened to sour their dream.

Maybe they could start again, putting the past behind them and forgetting about all the unhappiness, the anger and the quarrels and remembering that their love was all that really mattered, nothing else. If they had that, if they had each other, then that was all they needed.

Maybe they could be happy together, as they were meant to be.

He took Anne's hand in his and was trying to come up with the right words, to find a way to tell her what was in his heart, to make her understand what he hoped for, when they were interrupted by heavy footfalls.

"Excuse me, Your Majesties." Brandon bowed deeply to them both before directing his attention at Henry, a sombre expression on his face. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Your Majesty, but I must speak with you for a few minutes."

Henry tried to swallow his irritation at the interruption. "Can it wait?" He asked pointedly, hoping that his friend would take the hint and leave him and Anne alone, so that he could say what he meant to say and ask her if they could make a fresh start, but Brandon shook his head decisively.

"It's important, Your Majesty." He insisted.

Henry sighed, shifting Elizabeth from his lap and kissing Anne's temple. "Forgive me, sweetheart, I'll be back as soon as I can."

Brandon gave Anne a brief nod and Henry noticed that he seemed uncomfortable, unwilling to meet her eyes. "I won't keep him long, Your Majesty." He promised her hastily, beckoning for Henry to follow him down the path. He walked hurriedly, looking back periodically, as though to make sure that they were not being followed or watch and it was only when he was sure that they were out of earshot that he stopped.

"What's this about, Charles?" Henry asked curtly, hoping that his friend would say his piece and that they could make a swift end to the matter, allowing him to return to his family.

"Edward Seymour... he came to the palace today, wanting an audience with you." Brandon began, feeling awkward about being the one to explain this but it was not an issue that could be swept under the table and forgotten.

"What did he want?"

"It's his sister, Lady Jane." If Brandon had hoped that Henry would be able to guess what he was trying to say and spare him the discomfort of giving it voice, he was disappointed. Henry's expression was quizzical, as though he had no idea what could possibly be happening to Jane that would concern him and Brandon felt a flash of irritation towards his friend and sovereign for his denseness, which left him no choice but to voice the plain truth. "She carries your child."

"No." Henry couldn't believe it. This could not be happening! Not now!

"It's true, Your Majesty." Brandon said apologetically. "Edward told me that his sister only confided in them this week, and that they decided that it would be best to wait until a midwife could confirm her condition before they said anything to you, in case she was mistaken."

She was not mistaken, Henry thought dully. It was eleven weeks since Harry was born and therefore eleven weeks since he and Jane lay together. If she was not with child, she would know by now. She carried his illegitimate child in her belly, clear evidence of the fact that he had strayed with her.

Was this God's punishment for allowing himself to be led by Jane, for being deceived by the image of purity he believed she represented, for allowing himself to be tempted away from his wife's side just as she was preparing to bring their son into the world and for being so arrogant as to believe that he had succeeded in concealing his slip from Anne, for feeling such relief when she never questioned his delay in arriving to see her and baby Harry or made any remark when she emerged from her apartments after her churching and found that Jane was no longer at court, because it meant that he would not have to humble himself by confessing ?

Was he to lose his second chance with Anne, their new beginning?

Even if he vowed that he would never again place Jane, or any other woman, ahead of her in his heart, how could he expect Anne to believe his promises now, when she would be faced with the living proof of his betrayal?

"She can't know." He muttered to himself, agitated, his words drawing a puzzled frown from Brandon. "Anne," he elaborated. "She can never know about this."

Brandon hesitated, clearly unsure what he should say when faced with his friend's distress at this unwelcome news. When he finally spoke, it was in a tentative tone, choosing his words with the utmost care to avoid causing offence. "I don't think that this is something that can be hidden from her, Your Majesty." He pointed out gently. "Once the child is born, the Queen will surely hear of it sooner or later." He refrained from pointing out that Anne, together with everybody else at court, would also be capable of counting backwards for nine months from the child's birth and making a shrewd guess as to the date of its conception. "I think that it would be better if she heard about it from you… or maybe Lord Wiltshire could give her the news on your behalf." He suggested, thinking that not even Anne deserved to hear of the arrival of her husband's bastard through court gossip.

Henry shook his head in denial, unable to bear the thought of breaking this news to her, or of delegating the unpleasant task to his father-in-law, knowing that regardless of who told her, the news would be deeply painful for her to hear.

"Henry, she's going to have to be told eventually." Brandon told him. It was rare for him to address his friend by name, despite their closeness, but this was not a conversation between a subject and his King, it was between two men.

"Not if I don't acknowledge the child!" Henry blurted, the enormity of his own words only sinking in after he spoke them aloud.

If he acknowledged Jane's child, even if he was as discreet about it as he could possibly be, providing for the child through trusted agents rather than doling out funds directly to the Seymours for its upkeep, word would eventually get out that he had a child at Wolf Hall. A King's child would always draw a great deal of attention, even when that child was born on the wrong side of the blanket. Even if he had refrained from celebrating the birth of little Henry Fitzroy, decided against proclaiming to the world that he had a son at last, once he acknowledged the boy as his, it was inevitable that people would have found out about the child's existence, inevitable that Katherine would have learned of him in time and the same would be true of Jane's child.

Once he claimed it as his own, Anne was eventually going to hear about it… but the alternative was to deny his own child, perhaps his own son.

Could he do that?

"Could you do that?" Brandon asked quietly, unknowingly echoing Henry's thoughts and more than a little horrified by what he was hearing.

Catherine was expecting their own child in the winter, having miscarried the baby that would have been their first child shortly after the death of Katherine of Aragon and Brandon could not imagine denying his own child, leaving it nameless and fatherless, without his support.

He knew Henry well enough to know that this was not something that he would propose lightly and the fact that he was even considering the idea was a worrying one; could he really refuse to acknowledge his own child, just to keep Anne from finding out that he had strayed? Shielding Anne from that pain would mean inflicting far greater pain on two others; Jane Seymour, a good woman whom Brandon was certain had loved Henry truly and continued to do so and, worse still, the baby she carried.

Anne was a grown woman, the Queen of England and secure in her position of power and privilege. Jane's baby was a child, one who would be left without protection if its father refused to acknowledge him or her. Whatever injury Anne's pride received when she was told the news would be trivial compared to the hurt inflicted on the child if Henry denied it. The world was not a kind place for unacknowledged illegitimate children, even when their mother was born of a good family, one of comfortable means. For Henry to opt to protect Anne rather than his child, abandoning the latter rather than confronting the former with the truth, as unpleasant as that truth might be, was unthinkable for Brandon and he was disturbed to see that Henry did not deny that he was capable of doing so.

If he was a braver man, Brandon would have been tempted to tell Anne himself, forcing Henry into a position where he had nothing to lose by acknowledging the child but he did not dare, knowing that if he interfered in this matter, he was likely to find himself banished from the court… and this time, he would not be able to rely on Boleyn and Norfolk to speak for him to Henry and he would not be able to win his way back into favour by beating his King in an arm-wrestling match.

The expression on Henry's face made it plain that he had no intention of discussing the question any further. No decision would be made yet, at least not until the child was born.

"Do not speak to anybody of this." He ordered Brandon curtly. "And see to it that Edward Seymour knows to keep his mouth shut until I tell him otherwise."

Although Sir John could be foolish at times, Edward had a good head on his shoulders and he would know that it was in his and his family's interests if they stayed quiet for the time being, know that they should not presume to try to force his hand by making Jane's condition public knowledge. Henry was the King and it was for him to decide whether or not he was going to recognize the child. Either way, a marriage would have to be made for Jane, but not just yet, not until the baby was born and he had decided whether or not he would acknowledge it.

Once he decided what to do about the baby, he could decide where to go from there.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Brandon bowed, knowing better than to voice an objection or to try to persuade Henry, not yet. Hopefully, when he had had some time to adjust to the idea, he would rethink his attitude and realize that it would be far better for him to recognize his child, even if that did cause some difficulties for himself and Anne, but right now, he was not in a frame of mind to accept advice, even from his closest friend.

Henry strode away from him, returning to his wife and to their children.

Anne was concerned when she saw the expression on his face. "Is something wrong?" She asked quietly, wondering what Brandon could have said to put Henry in such a foul mood, when he had been so happy and so friendly only minutes ago.

Not wanted to worry her, Henry shook his head, forcing a reassuring smile to his face. "No, sweetheart." He lied, raising her hand and bringing it to his lips. "It's nothing."

* * *

Mary had promised not to tell Anne about his relationship with Mark, and that she would continue to persuade Jane that it was in everybody's best interests if she also did not breathe a word about it, to Father or to anybody else, but her promise was not unconditional.

She wanted George to promise that he would give up his relationship with Mark, returning to his wife's bed and making every effort to reconcile with her and, much to his surprise, Mark had agreed with Mary's recommendation… or at least with most of the letter of it, if not the spirit.

If Jane was foolish enough to speak of it – and there was no guarantee that she would not be; an angry, scorned woman might do anything, without stopping to consider the consequences of what she was doing – she could make things unpleasant for them and while George wanted to believe that his relationship with Anne, not to mention her fondness for Mark, whom she favoured above all of the other court musicians, would protect them, Mark was more realistic. He knew how harmful the allegation could be in itself; even if no proof of their relationship could be found and Jane's accusations were officially dismissed, the suspicion would still taint them and they would be unable to be alone together, or even to exchange a civil word in the company of others without provoking whispers about whether there was any truth to what Jane had said after all.

A man needed children and now that Anne was safely delivered of her son, providing her husband with a prince to be the next King of England, their father turned his attention to George, wanting to know why he and his wife had not yet provided an heir to the Boleyn estates. He had a grandson to bear the Tudor name and so the question of a grandson who would bear the Boleyn name was now uppermost in his mind, especially since the King was already hinting that he was planning on elevating him again, bestowing him with another title which would become extinct after George's death if he did not father a son to inherit it after him.

Anne had done her duty, now it was George's turn to do the same and Mark was in agreement, albeit for different motives.

He counselled his lover to treat his wife kindly, to allow her the comfort of believing that he had seen the error of his ways and wished to salvage their marriage. Once Jane was pregnant with his child, he would have the perfect excuse to send her away from the court, citing concern for her health and that of their unborn child as a reason to send her to live in the country, at Hever or in one of the manors that the King had gifted him with over the years, until the child was born and weaned. Perhaps she would even prefer to stay in the country to be with the child, rather than returning to court, many women wished to do so, and while other men might forbid it, George would be only too pleased to grant Jane's request. When she was gone, his bed would be his own once more and he could share it with whomever he wished.

At a stroke, he would get an heir, get his father out of his hair, at least for a while, and win himself freedom from his wife for a year or more.

That was worth a sacrifice on his part.

After fortifying himself with several goblets of wine, he made his way to his quarters, dismissing his servant as soon as he had helped him out of his clothes.

Jane was waiting for him in their bed and her smile was warm and welcoming as he entered the room, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Henry had not planned to visit Anne's bedchamber that night but his feet carried him there, without his planning for them to do so.

Nan Saville, taking her turn to sleep on a narrow truckle bed outside the archway separating the bedchamber from the outer chamber in case her mistress needed anything during the night, rose in haste when he knocked on the door, curtseying deeply and doing her best to look dignified, as befitted one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting, despite her dishevelled hair and the fact that she was clad in her nightgown and a robe she had hastily thrown on.

"Your Majesty, I…" While, at the beginning of their marriage, Henry had shared the same bed with Anne, never spending a night in his own bedchamber until she began her lying-in with Elizabeth, wanting to be near her even when her advanced pregnancy kept her from performing her marital duties, his visits were sporadic at best in the year or so before she became pregnant with baby Harry and the last thing Nan had expected was for him to pay a visit now.

"Good evening, Mistress Saville." He greeted her courteously, keeping his voice low. "Is the Queen asleep?"

"I believe so, Your Majesty. Her Majesty retired an hour ago and…"

"Thank you, Mistress Saville." There was a definite note of dismissal in his tone. It was right and proper for Anne to have one of her ladies in attendance during the night, just as he had one of his grooms sleeping by his bedside but that was only when they were sleeping alone. When they were together, they needed no company save each other. "You may leave us."

Nan curtsied again, obediently withdrawing from the room.

Anne was sleeping but she stirred when Henry entered the room, aware of his presence, even in her state of unconsciousness. She opened her eyes, blinking sleepily as her gaze focused on him and giving him a tired smile. "Henry."

"My love." He felt her stiffen slightly as he climbed into the bed beside her, drawing the silk coverlet closely around them, and knew that she was thinking of Dr Linacre's prohibition, afraid to protest in case he took offence. "It's alright, my own darling." He said gently, placing an arm around her shoulders and smiling when she moved into his embrace, settling comfortably in his arms and beginning to drowse off again. He kissed her temple. "I understand, and I can wait."

Even if they had to wait a few months longer before they could be together as man and wife, Henry was sure that he could be patient.

Until then, he was happy to be able to hold her.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**_1st October 1536_ **

"Thomas Boleyn, you are by order and permission of His Majesty, King Henry, today created Duke of Wiltshire."

The ceremony accompanying his elevation was not as elaborate as that that had accompanied Anne's elevation to the peerage and, unlike his daughter who was the only one honoured that day, just over four years ago, as the King had not wanted his darling to have to share her special day with anybody else, Boleyn was one of several to be elevated today, but he did not care. The ceremony may not have been as grand or as long as he might have hoped for but that did not change the impact of those magic words, which raised him from an earl to a duke, one of only three in England, excluding the infant Prince of Wales, who held the title of Duke of Cornwall by virtue of his status as the King's oldest son, making him one of the highest-ranking peers in England, on a level with the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk and second only to members of the royal family.

He was a duke.

He was the father of the Queen of England.

He was the grandfather of the future King of England.

Life was good.

"Arise, Your Grace." Henry invited, solemnly lifting the earl's coronet from his head and replacing it with that of a duke, before passing him a new sword in honour of his elevation. Once that was done, he rose from his throne and kissed him ceremoniously on both cheeks, as required by custom, before breaking with the ceremony by turning slightly to Anne, who sat on her own throne at his side, extending a hand to her and inviting her to step forward to offer her own congratulations and well-wishes to her father.

"Congratulations, Papa." Anne's voice was whisper-soft as she kissed his cheek, using her affectionate, childhood name for him rather that the more formal 'Father' she had adopted as her customary mode of address for him over the past two years, since she miscarried what would have been her second child. She looked lovely today, every inch the Queen and with the special glow of a woman who was confident that she was beloved by her husband.

Thankfully, despite their earlier difficulties, his daughter and her husband seemed to be getting on much better of late, sharing a warmth that had been absent since the early part of their marriage, something Boleyn was pleased to see. Now that Anne was the mother of a prince, her position was safe; she could not be repudiated and cast aside as her predecessor, whose efforts in childbed had yielded only a single living daughter, had been but even so, it was far better for Anne and for all of them that she made sure to continue to cultivate the King's love and to do everything she could to make sure that she did not offend him, as her family would be the ones to reap the benefits of royal favour, favour that would not be forthcoming if relations between the King and Anne were strained.

"Thank you, Your Majesties." Although his words were addressed to them both, it was at Anne he looked as he spoke them. He brought his hand to her lips and kissed it, aware that his elevation resulted more from the King's desire to please the woman he loved, the mother of his long hoped-for son than from his desire to see the grandfather of his heir standing as high as he possibly could in the ranks of the nobility, just as he was aware that this was the fourth time that he had been elevated because of her; first, when he was made a Knight of the Garter, back when the King first took an interest in the lovely girl who had been set in his path and wished to pre-emptively reward her father for his agreement and ensure that there was no danger of paternal objections to the relationship he planned to enter into; second when he was raised to the peerage as a viscount, becoming Lord Rochford; third when he was made an earl and now today.

Other men might crave sons above all else and consider their daughters to be more of a burden than a blessing, requiring substantial dowries in order to enable them to make a good marriage, the only way they could hope to bring their families the smallest measure of pride or honour, while a son could hope to advance at court or even through the ranks of the nobility if he was clever enough to win and keep the King's favour, thereby adding to the family's wealth and prestige and raising the family's status. Boleyn, however, knew better. Anne – who wasn't even the prettier of his two daughters to his estimation – had done more for him and for the family as a whole than George, or any other son, ever could.

His son was in attendance, his wife at his side. As a result of Boleyn's elevation, George was now entitled to use his father's subsidiary title of Earl of Ormonde by courtesy, while his wife became a countess and his former title of Viscount Rochford would be reserved for his own eldest son, when he was born. Jane's smile was wide as she stood at George's side, her arm linked with his. They seemed to be getting on better these days and Boleyn hoped that within the year, they would be able to present him with his first grandson to carry the family name.

With a final bow and a smile for Anne, Boleyn stepped back, yielding the floor to the next person to be ennobled, while his daughter and her husband returned to their thrones.

Lord Edward Brandon, the only child of Princess Margaret and the Duke of Suffolk, stepped forward, looking rather lost in his crimson velvet, ermine-trimmed robes. He had been carefully coached by his father and his tutor in the proper protocol for this event, one of the most exciting in his eight years and his face was schooled into an expression of appropriate sobriety as he knelt before his uncle, his head bowed while the patent raising him to the peerage in his own right was read aloud by Cromwell.

"Edward Brandon, you are by order and permission of His Majesty, King Henry, today created Earl of Lincoln."

"Arise, my Lord Lincoln." Henry said gravely, giving his nephew a small smile as he took a coronet from the proffered cushion and set in on his head, remembering when he had ennobled another little boy, his own son. Henry Fitzroy may have been born a bastard but that did not mean that his father was any less proud of him, or that he was less eager to see him sit on his throne. Creating him Duke of Richmond and Somerset, setting him above every man in England save the King himself, was intended as merely the first step towards securing the crown for his son but those ambitious plans had had to be abandoned when he died, still only a toddler.

His son's life may have been tragically brief, but it was not without purpose.

Henry Fitzroy was living proof that his father could sire a son and that the lack of a prince in the royal nursery could not be laid at his door.

Henry sometimes wondered if he would have been able to see the truth of the invalidity of his so-called marriage to Katherine if it had not been for the existence of his illegitimate son, the proof of his ability to get sons on the right woman, or if he would have allowed his affection for Katherine and for their daughter to continue to blind him to the truth about their union, or if it was Fitzroy's birth, that unmistakeable sign, that forced him to see and to acknowledge what he had not seen or acknowledged until then.

He impulsively reached for Anne's hand, squeezing it gently.

If it had not been for Fitzroy showing him the truth, he might not be married to Anne now and instead of little Harry, he would have Mary as his heiress, a daughter who was illegitimate in the eyes of God, born of an incestuous, accursed union, a girl willing to commit murder... thank God that such a thing had been averted!

He owed Fitzroy a great deal.

At Henry's signal, the newly ennobled Earl of Lincoln rose, accepting the sword his uncle handed him – and which he seemed to be far more pleased about than his title or coronet – and bowed deeply to his uncle and to his uncle's wife. "Thank you, Your Majesty." Although he managed to keep his expression grave and to back away from the throne decorously, resisting the temptation to run, which could have proven disastrous, given the heavy robes he was wearing, Edward's smile was wide when he returned to his father and stepmother, willingly accepting the latter's kiss, though he normally had a boy's abhorrence of such displays of affection, especially in public.

Henry Norris was the last to be elevated and after he rose to his feet as Baron Norris, Henry stood, extending his hand to Anne and leading her out of the throne room, the rest of the court following behind, in order of precedence.

The banquet was a sumptuous one, with the palace cooks working for days to ensure that everything was in order and the servants making certain that the Hall was spotless. The top table, set on the dais above all the others, was reserved for the King and Queen, for those who were elevated today and for their families. As the most senior of those elevated, the Duke of Wiltshire sat in the place of honour on the King's left with his son next to him, while the young Earl of Lincoln sat on the Queen's right, his parents sitting just beyond him.

Later, when he had eaten his fill, Henry leaned past Anne and young Edward to greet Brandon and Catherine, noting the latter's swollen belly, big even for a woman seven months gone with child. She ought to have been in the country by now, of course, back at Brandon's manor awaiting her delivery but her stepson had wanted her to be present for his special day and she had not been able to refuse his request.

"It won't be long now before you give young Edward a baby brother." Henry remarked genially.

"Or a sister." Catherine remarked. Although her smile was friendly, it did not reach her eyes. But for Edward's pleas that she be there to see him made an earl and her own desire not to disappoint the boy she loved as dearly as if he was her own son, she would much rather have absented herself from the festivities, especially since being there for the event meant that she was obliged to treat Anne with the deference she was due as Queen and, if that was not bad enough, she had to watch Boleyn's triumph as he was also raised, and to a far higher rank than Edward, the King's own nephew, was.

"He'll be just six months younger than our Prince Harry," Henry continued, as though he hadn't heard her, reaching down to twine his fingers between Anne's and lift her hand to his mouth for a kiss. "When the time comes for the Prince to begin his lessons, perhaps your boy could be a companion to him." He suggested brightly, looking to Anne for her opinion rather than to the Brandons for theirs. "What do you think, sweetheart?"

"I think that it's a wonderful idea," Anne agreed graciously. It was customary for royal children to have other children from good families to share their lessons with and to provide them with the companionship of children their own age – she and her sister Mary had spent time in the schoolroom at the Archduchess Margaret's court, with her wards before their father was appointed ambassador to France and brought them there with him and she had already promised Mary that her daughter by William Stafford, little Annie, could join Elizabeth as a companion when the time came, sharing her governess and tutors – and as Brandon was one of the highest-ranking nobles in England, his son would be an ideal candidate for the honour.

"It is a most generous offer, Your Majesty." Brandon agreed, albeit with far less enthusiasm than Henry had made the offer.

"Indeed." His wife looked even less taken with the idea than he was. It would be an honour for their child to be selected to be one of the companions to the heir to the throne, an honour than many courtiers would be vying for on behalf of their offspring but Catherine could not be happy about the idea of her child being plucked from her arms and turned over to the care of the staff of governesses, tutors, nursemaids and other servants who had charge of the royal children, especially since it would mean that her child's upbringing would fall under Anne's supervision rather than her own and Anne was not a woman she wanted to have influencing any child of hers.

She found herself hoping that the baby would be a girl, well aware of the fact that, unlike most men, Charles would never dream of reproaching her if she bore him a daughter instead of a son. He had Edward as an heir and he had declared more than once that he would be delighted with any child she gave him.

"It's settled then." Henry decided magnanimously, standing and motioning for the musicians in the gallery to start to play. As they struck up a galliard, he held out a hand to help Anne to her feet. "May I have this dance, my beautiful Queen?" He asked, bowing formally but with a bright twinkle in his eyes as she placed her hand in his, allowing him to lead her to the centre of the floor, where a wide space was left for dancing.

"The Queen is very beautiful," Edward murmured, awed. He had only the vaguest memories of another lady who was once called Queen, his Aunt Katherine, and although she was always kind to him when he visited and always gave him sweetmeats and candied fruits, she was older and her gowns were darker and plainer, not the way he thought a Queen should look, while Aunt Anne – though he was only supposed to call her that at court, in front of others, never in private when it was just him and his parents – looked like the most beautiful Queens he had ever heard about from his tutor.

"She is indeed, my lord." The Duke of Wiltshire remarked, overhearing the words and giving Edward a wide, approving smile.

Maybe it was Edward's imagination playing tricks on him, but he did not think that his parents seemed pleased that the Duke – the Queen's own father – had noticed him and spoken to him. For a moment, he thought that Father would say something angry to the Duke of Wiltshire and that there would be a quarrel, which would make his uncle very angry, especially on such an important day, but luckily the Duke of Norfolk came then and asked to speak to Wiltshire so he excused himself and moved away with him.

"Insufferable man!" Brandon exclaimed under his breath, his words meant for no ears save those of his wife. "He's been worse than ever since the Prince was born and now that he's a Duke, there'll be no end to his arrogance. His voice became very soft when he spoke again. "God help us all if the King doesn't live to see the Prince reach his majority." He muttered angrily, shuddering inwardly at the knowledge of what would inevitably follow. "It'd mean Regency for the Queen and Wiltshire as Lord Protector."

"Ssh!" Catherine said warningly.

Edward couldn't keep himself from shivering when he heard that. It was treason for anybody to imagine the death of the King, whether they were a poor commoner or a duke, and treason was a crime that could be punishable by death. If somebody heard what Father was saying, somebody who didn't know that he was Uncle Henry's most loyal friend and subject, they would think that he was a traitor.

Luckily, nobody else seemed to have heard him and Father didn't say anything else that might be mistaken for treason, much to Edward's relief. He watched the King and Queen dancing together, laughing softly at a private joke, and Mother followed his gaze.

"She seems happy." Catherine remarked without smiling, watching Henry twirling a laughing Anne around, sweeping her off her feet and setting her down with an affectionate kiss. It had been a long time since she or anybody else at court had seen the royal couple so happy together. It was as though the baby Prince's safe arrival, along with the fact that he continued to thrive, was having a healing effect on a union that had soured a great deal in recent years. She had no love for Anne and, while she was happy that the other woman had not lost her baby, a loss that she had experienced herself and could never wish on another woman, under any circumstances, she couldn't help but think of Mary as she watched Anne dance, knowing that as happy as Anne was now, Mary was even more unhappy in her exile and disgrace.

She may have disagreed wholeheartedly with Mary's attempt to poison her stepmother while she was carrying a child but that did not keep Catherine from feeling sorry for the girl now that she was banished from the court and from her father's affections. There were very few people who dared to speak up for Mary these days and those who did were unable to persuade the King to soften in his attitude towards his daughter or his treatment of her; in fact, of all the court, Catherine suspected that the only person whose pleas on Mary's behalf were likely to have any effect was Anne, and she – understandably, given the circumstances, Catherine conceded grudgingly – was unlikely to ever speak a word in her stepdaughter's defence.

"Yes," Brandon agreed quietly, his eyes staying fixed on the royal couple, despite the fact that several other pairs of dancers had joined them on the dance floor. As happy as Henry and Anne appeared to be now, he was one of the few who knew that there was a very real chance that it might not last, one of the few who knew of the impending event that might undo all of the work Henry had done rebuilding his relationship with Anne. To do him justice, Henry had been faithful to Anne these past months, devoting himself to his wife in a way that he had not since the first year of their marriage, but all his present attentiveness couldn't change the fact that he had strayed, or the fact that in five months time, Jane Seymour would bring the evidence of his infidelity into the world. He did not like Anne but he still felt some pity for her over the very real chance that her happiness would melt away like snow on a hot stove within a matter of months. "May it continue."

* * *

Although the sickness she had experienced in the mornings and the nausea that had left her unable to even look at foods that she had once found so enjoyable, had both disappeared before the end of her third month, a couple of weeks before the baby quickened for the first time, Jane was still not having an easy time of it during her pregnancy.

It was not her physical health that was the problem; the midwife her family had engaged, and to whom they had paid a considerable sum of money in order to ensure her discretion, had assured her that she and the baby were both doing well, as well as they could possibly be expected to, but she found the days to be long and lonely, as she was restricted to her chambers and forbidden to set foot outside the house, for fear that somebody outside the family or the most trusted household servants might see her and be able to discern the slight swell of her belly.

She had kept her condition hidden for as long as possible but, even so, it was not long before her brother Edward, who had always been the sharpest member of the family by far, found out that she was being sick in the morning and quizzed her about the cause, his expression darkening when she confessed that she had lain with the King the day that Prince Harry was born and that she now carried his child.

She had cherished a hope that when the King learned of her condition, he would be pleased to know that their love had created a child. Even if that child was illegitimate and could therefore never hope to sit on his throne, it would still be his child, further proof of his potency, especially if it turned out to be a boy as strong and handsome as his father. She would have liked to be the one to tell him herself, to see his joy at the thought that he would soon have another son, God willing, by the early spring but Edward had refused to even consider the idea, reminding her that not only had she been dismissed from the court at the King's express command, she could not dream of shaming herself or the rest of their family by appearing at court in her condition, which would have every man and woman there guessing the truth and enjoying a hearty laugh at the Seymour family's expense.

Of all the family, Edward's reaction to her pregnancy was the most upsetting. Jane was prepared for the disappointment in her father's eyes when he learned that she, whom he had told her brother possessed modesty and virtue in her very nature, had given herself to a man who was not and who could never be her husband, and for his worry over the fact that they would never be able to find her a suitable husband now, not without the King's assistance, both in terms of finding a man willing to take her on and in terms of providing money and land to compensate him for marrying her, but Edward's reaction had been almost chilling in its coldness, like a merchant whose product had just lost value rather than a brother who was concerned for his sister's future.

His mouth became very thin as she confessed that she had gone against his counsel and given herself to the King, that she had ignored his warnings to wait until the Queen was delivered of her child. If they had known that the baby prince was going to be born alive and healthy, if they had known that the Queen was going to succeed in producing the King's long hoped-for heir and thereby secure her own position, ensuring that the King would never be able to discard her, then she would have been far better placed to make her decision, able to weigh the benefits against the potential losses before deciding what to do.

If she had waited, she might have found herself offered the position of maitresse en titre, or maybe the King's fondness for her would have prompted him to arrange a marriage for her, to a man of title and fortune, or she might have been able to leave the court with her virtue intact, enabling their father to find her a good husband.

Instead, she had acted unwisely and now her future, and that of the whole family, was in doubt.

The King had not wished to lie with her again after that first time; now that their son was born, he seemed to want to return to Queen Anne and to be a loving and faithful husband to her – something Jane would consider right and fitting if any other man and wife were involved, if not for the fact that she was involved in the situation and the fact that Anne's gain would be her loss – and he had certainly shown no inclination towards wanting to resume his relationship with Jane.

But she was carrying his child.

Even Edward seemed to show a hint of pleasure at this, seeing in it a glimmer of hope.

Henry Fitzroy, the King's son, had been greatly favoured by his father since the day he was born and, while both Jane and her brother were realistic enough to know that her child would never be advanced as an heir ahead of Prince Harry or even after the Prince but before Princess Elizabeth, it was possible, even likely that the King would be generous to her baby, as he was to Henry Fitzroy.

She would never be the Queen of England and she would never be the mother of the heir to the throne but perhaps, if her baby was a boy, he might be awarded with his half-brother's titles as Duke of Richmond and Somerset, provided for as though he was a prince and received at court as the King's acknowledged son as soon as he was old enough.

When Edward rode out to make the journey to court to seek an audience with the King and to let him know of her condition, Jane imagined that he would come back with the news that she was to go at once to the King's house at Jericho, where she could spend her confinement in its peaceful, luxurious surroundings before she gave birth to the King's acknowledged child, who would be welcomed with joy and celebration, as Henry Fitzroy once was, but when Edward returned, his expression was sombre and he spoke with their father before he came to speak with her.

The King had not even granted him an audience, choosing instead to relay his instructions through his friend, the Duke of Suffolk.

On the King's orders, her condition was to remain a closely guarded secret. Nobody outside of her immediate family was to be told, any midwives or physicians they consulted were to be paid for their silence. Money was provided for that, and for Jane's needs during her pregnancy. Until the child was born, Jane was not to allow anybody outside the family to lay eyes on her, in case they were able to see her condition for themselves.

"But what about the baby?" Jane pressed, anxious about the fact that no mention had been made about her child's future. "The King will acknowledge it as his son or daughter, won't he?"

"I don't know, Jane." Edward said quietly, his words devastating her. "The Duke of Suffolk did not say – I do not believe that the King told even him of his plans, if he has decided already what he is going to do or if he is still thinking about what he wishes to do."

"But he must acknowledge him!" She protested. The King was such a loving father to Prince Harry and to Princess Elizabeth, and had been to the little Duke of Richmond before he died that she could not credit him with being willing to disown their child, even if he was illegitimate... until she thought of Princess Mary.

Mary was once the King's cherished daughter, his adoration of her and the pride he took in the beauty and precocity of the girl he called the pearl of his world was well known. He had loved Mary so much that it had caused some people some surprise, as nobody could deny that the princess' sex was a disappointment but when she was small, that had not seemed to matter to the King, who loved and cherished her regardless... until the day came when he tired of her mother and wished to cast her aside so that he might take a new wife and father a child who would supplant the princess as his heir.

From being the jewel of her father's life, the Princess of Wales and the acknowledged heiress to the throne, the princess was downgraded to 'Lady Mary', the King's illegitimate daughter, obliged to be a servant to the little Princess Elizabeth, even though it was in her father's power to treat her far better, if he chose, he had certainly meted out far better treatment to his illegitimate son during his brief life.

Now that she was accused of involvement in the poisoning of Queen Anne, the King had cut her off entirely, refusing to see her, to write to her or to accept her letters.

If he could cut Princess Mary, a daughter he had cherished for so many years, out of his life like that, then there truly was nothing to stop him disowning Jane's baby, refusing to see him or to accept him as his own.

If he would not claim the child as his own, Jane did not have the power to gainsay him. Even if she pointed to him as the father, she would be officially disbelieved and retribution might even be taken against her family in payment for her speaking out.

"The King will do as he thinks best." Edward told her grimly, as unhappy about this turn of events as she was. "It is not for us to gainsay his wishes, sister, you know that. The Duke of Suffolk confided in me that he believes that the King is worried about what it would mean if the Queen was to learn of your condition – though that is something that you must never repeat to anybody else, even within the family." He cautioned her quietly. It had been brave of Brandon to mention this to him, as he could find himself in a great deal of trouble if it ever came to the King's ear that he had spoken and Edward got the sense that he would not have said a word, if it was not for the fact that he felt some sympathy for Jane. "She does not know that you lay with the King – or when you did so. If he wishes to reconcile with her, he will not want her to learn of that."

"So he will deny our child?" Jane asked in disbelief. "For her?"

It was like a cruel joke, Anne's ability to cause Jane harm, even when she did not know of the damage she was causing.

First, when she reacted so badly to seeing Jane sitting on the King's knee, making more of the issue than she needed to and flying into such a passion that she almost lost the child she carried, something that meant that the King spent the next four months worrying about her health and that of his unborn son, spending more time with Anne than he did with Jane. Then she went into labour with Prince Harry, just as Jane was lying with the King for the first time, ensuring that it would also be their last time together, ensuring that the King would be angry that he had missed his son's birth and that they had come so close to discovery that he would want to end their relationship. Now it seemed that the King might be prepared to deny their child, just to keep Anne from finding out that he was with Jane and being hurt by the knowledge and jealous of the fact that another woman had her husband's child.

How could the King go from disliking his wife and shunning her company, while pledging to serve Jane with the same loyalty and devotion with which Sir Lancelot had once served Queen Guinevere, to being willing to abandon Jane and their child, just to coddle Anne and keep her from having to face an unpleasant fact?

"He may change his mind." Edward said, wanting to believe that almost as much as Jane did. He was conscious of the fact that there was a lot of people whispering against the Seymour family at court, with many of those who would have been falling over one another to win their favour if Anne had failed and Jane had had a chance at becoming the next Queen of England now tittering about them behind their backs, mocking them over the fact that Jane had gone from being all but worshipped by the King to being banished and forgotten.

As unhappy he was that his sister had gone against his advice, refusing to wait until after the Queen was delivered in order to make a sensible decision instead of being led by her own desires, he was not without hope that they could still salvage something from the situation now that Jane was carrying the King's child.

He would have liked to be the uncle of the next King of England but, failing that, there could still be some advantage to being the uncle of the King's acknowledged bastard.

Certainly far more than there was to being the uncle of a bastard child that no man was willing to own and who would be a burden to his mother's family.

"Do you really think that he might change his mind?" Jane asked hopefully, seizing on the faint optimism of his words.

"Perhaps." He said cautiously, thinking over the matter and what he knew of the King's character. "He is anxious to please the Queen now and is therefore reluctant to do anything that will offend or upset her – and acknowledging your child as his would certainly do that – but that may not be the case by the time you are delivered." He speculated aloud, inwardly debating over the likelihood that the King would have moved on to another mistress in five months time. If so, then shielding Anne from unpleasant facts would no longer be his priority and he would probably expect her to accept the existence of his illegitimate child by Jane if he chose to acknowledge it, just as he would expect her to accept his relationship with his mistress, whoever she was. "And if the child is a boy, he will certainly want to acknowledge him as his own." He added, feeling more cheerful at the thought.

After so many years without a male heir, the King would want to prove to the people of England and all of Christendom that he was a man like any other man and even though he had a prince in the royal cradle, if it was known that he had fathered a son by Jane, it would further confirm his potency, something that would be very desirable for him.

"Yes," Jane agreed, needing to believe that he was right. She laid her hands over the faint swelling of her abdomen, wondering how long it would be until she felt the baby quicken within her. "I'm sure that he will change his mind before the baby is born."


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**_19th November 1536_ **

"They're so small!" Brandon's eyes were wide with awe as he leaned over the carved cradle set at the foot of the bed, looking down at the sleeping faces of the newest additions to the family.

Even the midwife had not anticipated twins so it had come as a surprise to her and her assistant, to Catherine and to Brandon – who had flouted convention by insisting on remaining at his wife's side during her labour instead of remaining downstairs, as men were expected to, and staying out of women's business – when Catherine's labour pains still continued strongly after the birth of their baby son and, half an hour later, their new daughter had followed her brother into the world.

The babies were somewhat small, as they had arrived a few weeks before their time but the midwife assured their parents that this was not unusual for twins and that they were both healthy. Their tiny skulls were each adorned with a few wisps of soft brown hair and their eyes were blue, like those of two newborns.

"It's lucky that they're not both boys – or both girls," Brandon remarked, ignoring the midwife's attempts to dissuade him and carefully lifting the babies out of the cradle, balancing one on each arm. "They're so alike that we'd never be able to tell them apart if that was the case."

"What are you going to name them?" Edward asked, delighted to be permitted to take a glimpse of his new siblings.

"The boy will be Henry, for the King." Brandon and Catherine had both known that this was the only name that their baby could be given if it was a son. Henry had already volunteered to stand godfather to the boy he was certain awaited birth and, while Brandon wanted to name his son after his friend, he knew that Henry would expect the child to be named after him even if that was not the case.

"And will you be calling the girl Anne, for the Queen?" Edward asked eagerly. It seemed to him that these would be very fitting choices for a set of twins, at least when those twins were a boy and a girl – Anne would have been a silly name for a boy, after all. Perhaps Aunt Anne could be godmother to the girl, as Uncle Henry was to be godfather to the boy and then when the babies were older, they would have a King and a Queen for their godparents. He couldn't understand why his suggestion prompted frowns from both of his parents. "It would be nice for them to both be named for royalty, don't you think?" He prompted.

"The King will probably expect it." Brandon muttered, knowing that Henry was likely to think along the same lines as young Edward had, expecting that they would compliment his wife by naming their daughter for her, even though he could not be unaware of the fact that neither Brandon nor Catherine were especially fond of Anne. He looked down at the face of his sleeping daughter, so tiny and so innocent in his arms and he balked at giving her the name of a woman he neither liked nor respected, a woman who had done untold harm over the past years.

"No daughter of mine is going to be named for that woman." Catherine stated flatly, her tone making it clear that this was a stance from which she would not be budged. "Never!"

"But..." Edward was troubled by the vehemence in her tone but before he could ask why she should be so opposed to naming the baby girl after the Queen, his father shook his head, his frown making it clear that he should be quiet.

"This is an adult concern, Edward," Brandon chided his son. "You must not interfere."

"When you are a little older, you will understand."

Although Catherine's tone was kind, Edward resented her words more than he did his father's reprimand. He was not a baby, like the twins, or a silly toddler like his cousin, Princess Elizabeth, nor was he stupid! He could see that his parents did not like Queen Anne and he could not understand why; he may not have visited the court very often but he had never seen the Queen be anything but kind to him and polite to his parents. If they disliked her, then he would dislike her too but only if they explained why.

What had Queen Anne done to make them hate her so much?

Much to his disappointment, they did not explain, returning their attention instead to the subject of his new sister's name.

"If not Anne, then what?" Brandon asked practically.

"If I was braver, I'd name her Mary, for the Princess." Catherine remarked ruefully.

Edward frowned at this; the only Princess in England was Elizabeth, and before her, his mother – his real mother – was a Princess because she was the King's sister but her name was Margaret. He knew that Catherine must mean his cousin Mary but everybody knew that she was illegitimate, that Archbishop Cranmer had discovered that she was not really a Princess and that it was treason for anybody to call her by the title that was no longer hers.

"The Lady Mary." Brandon corrected her swiftly, seeing the look of confusion on Edward's face. Because of his son's youth, he tried to shield him from knowledge of the King's Great Matter and what had resulted from it, knowing that he was too young to have many concrete memories of Queen Katherine and thinking that it would be best if that remained the case. When he was old enough to understand and, more importantly, to know the importance of being discreet about what he heard his parents say, then they could discuss the issue with him, explaining the reasons behind their resentment of Anne and why it was that Mary was no longer a Princess and had been branded illegitimate but until then, it was best to tell him only the 'official' version of the story, rather than put him in a position where he would be burdened with the knowledge.

Catherine nodded understanding. "The Lady Mary, of course." She amended, smiling reassuringly at Edward.

Brandon considered for a few moments, trying to choose a name. Anne was out of the question, and Mary would anger Henry. The safest option would be to choose another name altogether, one without any associations with the royal family but before he could think of one, a daring impulse prompted him to pick another. "Catherine." He decided. "Who better to name her for than her mother?" He asked rhetorically, although he could see from his wife's face that she knew that he was also thinking of her own namesake, Queen Katherine, the queen her mother had served loyally when she was young, before her marriage.

She smiled. "I think that's a wonderful idea." Even the King could not object to a child being named for her mother. She extended her arms and Brandon passed the baby girl to her.

Henry and Catherine Brandon.

They were perfect.

* * *

**_15th February 1537_ **

Riding on horseback and accompanied by just one of Anne's ladies-in-waiting and a company of guards to protect them on their travels, Henry and Anne made their way to Hatfield, both eager for a visit with their children.

Usually, they made their visits separately; Henry had to snatch whatever spare time he could from the business of statecraft, as the round trip took up almost half a day, even when the visit itself was brief and Anne's ability to travel there depended both on how easy it was for her to get away and whether or not she was pregnant at the time, as there could be no question of her making the journey while she was carrying a child, for fear of a miscarriage. Over the past weeks, heavy rains had left the roads flooded and made the trip all but impossible but today, now that the weather had cleared, neither of them were prepared to wait any longer to see their children and, after an early breakfast, they ordered that the gifts they had chosen for their children should be packed up, ready for them to take with them, mounted their horses and set off.

As a rule, if one of them was planning a journey to Hatfield, a messenger would be sent ahead to warn Lady Bryan of an impending visit but today, Anne had decided against it, partly because she wanted to surprise Elizabeth and partly because she wanted to catch her children's carers unawares, to make sure that they were as devoted to their precious charges as they appeared to be, for her own peace of mind.

She could not forget that the Lady Mary had once been placed in Elizabeth's household, one of those entrusted with the safety and welfare of her beloved daughter, who might have had a chance to be left alone with Elizabeth to do her harm and everybody at court knew what Mary had proved herself to be capable of.

Anne was not prepared to take the chance that there might be another viper in her children's nursery, somebody lying in wait for the opportunity to do them harm, or that they might be left to the care of somebody who did not appreciate the full importance of their charge and the need to guard the royal children diligently and care for them tenderly, especially when she herself was not in a position where she could visit as often or stay for as long as she wanted, long enough to play a more active role in her children's upbringing.

Queens did not do that.

Royal children were sent to their own households as babies and it was their governesses, nurses and tutors who brought them up, not their parents. Their parents were visitors to their household or people whom they visited at court and, despite the bonds of affection between parents and children, there was always a certain distance between them.

Much as she might hate it, much as she might long to take charge of her children herself, setting up a nursery for them at court, near her own rooms so that she could be there when they needed her, that was something that would never be allowed.

Although they had not sent a warning on ahead, it was likely that somebody at Hatfield had been able to spot their approach in the distance and hurry in to warn Lady Bryan of their impending arrival; when they rode into the courtyard, several grooms were present to greet them and to take charge of their horses for the duration of their stay.

One of them hurried to help Anne down from her horse but Henry waved him aside, swinging her down himself and threading his arm through hers as he led the way into the house, scarcely giving Madge Shelton time to straighten the train of her mistress' riding habit before they left the courtyard.

Lady Bryan was waiting in one of the main reception rooms of the palace that had become the royal nursery and, although she was impeccably clad in her black silk gown, without a hair out of place, her slightly ruffled expression betrayed the fact that this visit had come as a surprise to her, and not an entirely welcome one, despite her pleasant smile. Nevertheless, she maintained her poise, curtseying deeply as Henry and Anne entered.

"Your Majesties," she greeted them politely, "this is a most welcome surprise. Had I but known that we could expect the honour of your presence, I would have seen to it that the Princess Elizabeth was dressed and ready to receive you, and that the Prince of Wales was brought down from the nursery."

"Had you known that the Queen and I were to visit, you would be a witch and we could not allow you to continue to have the care of the royal children," Henry remarked jovially. "We did not know ourselves until this morning, so we certainly cannot complain if the Prince and Princess need a few minutes to ready themselves for our visit, can we?"

Lady Bryan smiled politely at the jest but Anne could see that she was ill at ease, glancing around the room to make sure that everything was in order and that there was no cause for complaint.

Anne, making the same examination but for different reasons, was satisfied. The room was clean and clearly well kept. The servants going about their duties were neatly dressed, with no sign of slovenliness and there was no sign of the hasty cleaning and setting to rights that she remembered from her own childhood when the servants at Hever, accustomed to taking things easy when the master of the house was away at court, where he would stay for months on end, received a warning at short notice that he planned to pay a visit to his children and the staff had to hurry to see to it that everything was in order before he returned and saw that, in his absence, things had been allowed to slide.

"Would Your Majesties care for some refreshment?" Lady Bryan asked, anxious to please. "I am sure that it was a long and tiring journey."

"Some wine, if you please." Henry told her. He glanced at the ornate clock standing at the mantel, seeing that it would not be much longer until midday, when Elizabeth was due to eat her dinner. "And we will eat dinner with Princess Elizabeth."

"As you wish, Your Majesty." Lady Bryan responded obediently, motioning for a servant to fetch the requested wine and managing to hide her irritation at the King's declaration that he and the Queen were to stay and dine with their daughter, something that would mean a great deal of extra trouble and ceremony for the cooks and servants of the household.

At three and a half, Elizabeth was still rather young to dine in state at the top table in the huge dining hall and, apart from her visits to Whitehall, when all the appropriate ceremony due to her exalted rank had to be observed, Lady Bryan preferred to have her small charge eat her meals in the privacy of her nursery, where she could see to it that the child did not eat too much of the rich dishes that were so bad for her digestion. As well as that, while the little girl's table manners were far better than those of other children her age, thanks to her governess' careful, patient instruction, she was still a small child and the last thing her governess wanted was for her to slip up in front of the King and Queen, who might see poor table manners on their daughter's part as a sign that Lady Bryan, who was responsible for seeing to it that she was taught all she needed to know, had failed in her duties to the Princess and would have to be replaced.

However, she would never presume to argue with the King or the Queen and, if they wished to stay and dine with Princess Elizabeth, she would simply have to make the best of things and pray that the little girl was able to behave as befitted her rank.

A few minutes later, Elizabeth, who had been hastily dressed in one of her finest gowns, was escorted into the room by one of her maids in waiting, who dropped a deep curtsey as soon as she crossed the threshold of the room and reminded Elizabeth to do the same in a hissed whisper. A nursemaid in a dark gown and a white apron followed, carrying Harry in her arms.

Bobbing a quick curtsey, Elizabeth pulled away from her attendant and dashed towards her parents, hugging Anne tightly around the waist and burying her face in the dark blue velvet of her mother's skirts for a moment, waiting until Anne had hugged and kissed her before turning to Henry, who caught her in his arms and swung her around, planting a smacking kiss on her cheek.

"Mama! Papa!" Elizabeth's eyes sparkled with delight at the unexpected surprise.

"Hello, sweetheart," Anne stood next to Henry and her daughter stretched out her arms for another hug and kiss.

"Can we take it that you're glad to see us?" Henry joked, delighted by Elizabeth's enthusiasm.

"Yes." She assured him with a nod, glancing back at her brother. "And Harry's glad too."

"Mama! Mama! Mama!" From his nurse's arms, Harry bounced impatiently, holding out chubby arms to his mother and waiting for her to take him. He clearly had no intention of being left out of the reunion a moment longer and when Anne reached out to take him from his nurse, he gave her a wide smile, proudly displaying his four teeth.

"You're so big now!" Anne murmured, awed by the change that the month between this visit and her last had made in her son. He had celebrated her last visit by speaking his first word, and the delight of Lady Bryan and his nurse when Harry greeted her as 'mama' on her arrival reassured her that they were telling the truth when they told her that this was the first time he had spoken and that they weren't just trying to please her by saying that it was.

As she had known would be the case since the day Harry was born, he looked a great deal like Henry, with the same dark hair – he had very little patience with the white embroidered cap his nurse tied on and insisted on pulling it off at every possible opportunity, displaying a thick head of hair – and his eyes, though blue at birth, now matched Henry's brown.

He truly was the living image of his father, something nobody who saw him would ever be able to deny, even if they wanted to.

Balancing Elizabeth in one arm, Henry moved to tickle Harry under the chin with his free hand, beaming proudly at his son.

"No 'hello' for Papa, Harry?" He asked in a mock-chiding tone. Harry had not yet mastered the word 'papa' but he made up for that by greeting his father with delighted gurgles, reaching out a chubby fist to grasp the heavy gold chain around his neck and bring it to his mouth for closer inspection. "Oh, no." He told his baby son, gently disengaging his fingers. "That's not for eating; you'll hurt your teeth. Can you manage him, sweetheart?" He asked Anne, seeing that she was struggling slightly with Harry's weight. He was a strong baby, no frail lightweight, and his determined wriggling could make it difficult to keep a grip on him.

"We're fine." Anne insisted, moving to sit down in a chair, where she could balance Harry more easily in her lap. Harry settled down in her lap quite happily, gripping a fistful of her hair but not pulling it, simply content to clutch at it while he snuggled close to her but they were not allowed to remain thus for long.

After a few minutes spent holding Harry and chatting with Elizabeth, who was thrilled with the new gowns and dolls that her parents had brought for her, Henry and Anne's idyll with their children was interrupted when Lady Bryan stepped forward, an apologetic expression on her face.

"Forgive me, Your Majesties, but it is time for the Prince's feeding." She explained, bending down to pluck the baby from Anne's lap, bouncing him a little to soothe his grumbles at being taken away from his mother and then passing him over to his nurse. "We are endeavouring to keep him to a routine, in order to aid his digestion."

"Of course." Henry nodded permission, indicating that the nurse could take Harry away. Once she was gone, he touched Anne's hand lightly. "He'll be back soon, sweetheart." He said quietly, knowing that they were limited in terms of the time they could spend at Hatfield, as they were expected back at the palace in the afternoon, and that it would upset her to miss out on some of their time with their son. "This really is our fault for timing our visit so badly – we'll make sure that we do better next time and that it doesn't happen again." He promised, wanting to cheer her up.

Anne nodded, covering her disappointment with a smile for Elizabeth's sake, not wanting to spoil her pleasure in the visit, and sorting through the gifts they had brought their daughter, finding the little pearl-trimmed cap she had commissioned for her. She was aware that the haberdasher must have been very low on patience with her when she sent it back for the third time, still not satisfied with the embroidery and lace trimming, and that if not for the fact that she was Queen, she might have been told, in no uncertain terms, that her patronage was no longer wanted but she wanted it to be absolutely perfect before she brought it to Elizabeth.

Gently untying the coif that covered Elizabeth's fair hair, Anne placed the new cap on her head, leaving a few strands of hair loose to frame her face before sitting back to survey the effect.

"You look beautiful," she told her daughter, smiling as Elizabeth immediately began to clamour for a mirror so that she could see how she looked in her new finery. Young as she was, Elizabeth had a great love for beautiful clothes and jewels and an even greater love of the admiration she attracted with her childhood beauty. She truly was going to be a beautiful woman one day – and a clever one too, Anne reflected, watching Elizabeth pick up the illuminated Book of Hours among her gifts, opening it and tracing the letters with a tiny finger.

She was old enough now to begin some elementary lessons, something Anne had discussed with Lady Bryan on her last visit. Although Elizabeth had been supplied with a horn book shortly before her third birthday, with her governess giving her her first lessons, teaching her her letters and numbers, Lady Bryan had her hands full supervising the nursery and baby Harry's care and did not have the time to spare to undertake Elizabeth's education as well, which would be a full time job.

She had suggested that a second governess should be engaged, an educated woman who could make Elizabeth's schooling her sole task and give the little princess the attention she needed and deserved, and Anne had agreed with this recommendation.

"Have you the list of candidates, as we discussed?" She asked Lady Bryan, who nodded.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Lady Bryan said with a curtsey, excusing herself and returning a few moments later with a small bundle of papers, which she handed to Anne. "I have narrowed the selection down to the five most suitable candidates, if it pleases you, Your Majesty. I thought that you would wish to make the final selection yourself."

"Thank you, Lady Bryan." Anne nodded, glancing over the papers quickly before passing them to Madge, who would keep them safe until they could be stowed in a saddlebag for the journey home. Elizabeth was watching curiously, aware that the matter concerned her but not certain what exactly it was that they were talking about. Seeing this, Anne elaborated for her. "We're choosing a new governess for you, my precious," she explained, "a lady who will be able to help Lady Bryan run the household and who will be in charge of teaching you."

"So that you can learn all the things that a clever princess needs to know," Henry added with a grin, "and become a good scholar."

Elizabeth smiled at that. She enjoyed her lessons with Lady Bryan and was eager to learn more and it also pleased her to think that she was going to have a governess of her very own, one that she would not have to share with Harry. He could have Lady Bryan, who was rather old-fashioned and a little too strict for Elizabeth's liking, in any case, and she would have the new lady, who would hopefully be somebody who would be fun to be with.

"I want somebody who can _play_." She told her Mama solemnly, knowing that she would want to please her with her choice. "Somebody who knows lots of games." Her Papa laughed and she knew that he approved both of her request and of her daring in making it. Lady Bryan did not look pleased to hear this but that did not matter as long as Elizabeth's parents agreed; they were the King and the Queen and Lady Bryan was just a governess and had to obey them.

"I'll see what I can do, sweetheart." Anne promised.

Elizabeth beamed, satisfied by this response, turning her attention to her new gowns and fingering her favourite, of soft blue silk with gold embroidery and pearls sewn at the collar, the hem and the edges of the sleeves. "I want to wear this." She announced imperiously. "I want to wear this for dinner."

"Whatever you want." Henry agreed with an indulgent smile, watching Elizabeth clutch her new gown tightly and scamper over to her attendant to enlist her aid in helping her change into it. He grinned at Anne as Elizabeth hurried away. "It seems that your gift was a success, my love." He remarked.

"Yes," Anne said quietly, trying to hide her hurt at the sight of her daughter hurrying to ask somebody else to help her dress.

The idea of asking her mother had never occurred to her.

* * *

All Jane wanted to do was to lie down in her bed and rest between her pains but the midwife was unrelenting, insisting that she continue to walk back and forth in the narrow confines of her chamber for as long as she could remain on her feet, assuring her that this was the best thing that she could do at this point in her labour, for herself and for her coming child.

"There'll be plenty of time for you to lie around, my lady, believe me but you must walk for as long as you can possibly bear it. You'll be glad that you did; this way, the baby's own weight will help bring him down and it will ensure that when the time comes for him to be born, you'll have an easier time of it."

Jane wasn't certain that she believed her.

She was sure that nobody would have made _Anne_ walk in circles around her chambers for hours when she was in labour with Prince Harry or with Princess Elizabeth, just as she knew that if she was the King's wife and Queen, struggling to bring his lawful heir into the world instead of a one-time mistress bearing him an illegitimate son, she would have been allowed to lie down on the bed and be cosseted and she would be surrounded by her ladies, by a team of midwives and that the King's best physician would be on hand to help her.

Instead, she was left to the mercies of this midwife, who was well-paid by her family to ensure that she would never breathe a word to anybody about the paternity of the child she was helping to bring into the world, just in case the King decided that he would not acknowledge his child after all, something Jane feared more and more as the time of their child's birth drew nearer.

He had not sent her any letters or tokens, he had not even sent a message to her father asking after her health or given any indication that he had changed his mind regarding whether or not he would acknowledge the child as his own.

Gossip from the court indicated that he remained as devoted to Queen Anne as he had been since the birth of the baby prince, that the royal couple were closer than they had been for a long time and that he did not appear to have even looked at any other woman all these months, much less made one of them his mistress, as Edward and Jane had hoped he would.

If Queen Anne's hold over him was still strong, it would be a disaster for Jane and for the baby; even if he turned away from his wife at a later date, it would do them little good as he would not acknowledge the baby if too much time passed between his birth and the diminishing of Anne's influence.

The family had already discussed the possibility that the King would reject his son, debating over their options if that should happen. Thankfully, her father refused to consider the idea of putting the baby out to nurse and leaving him to be brought up as a foundling by a peasant family, to grow up as a commoner rather than as a gentleman. Even if the King refused to accept that the child had Tudor blood, he would still be a Seymour and they would not abandon one of their own in that manner, even if that was a course of action that was likely to be very appealing to other families in a similar position. If the King chose not to acknowledge the child, as was his right, then the baby would be brought up at Wolf Hall as her father's ward, well-cared for and well-educated, and they would do their best to find Jane a suitable husband.

Her knees buckled under her as she paced and the midwife was by her side in an instant, steadying her before she could fall and guiding her over to the bed, pushing a pillow behind her shoulders and positioning her with her feet flat on the bed, her knees bent and her legs spread apart while she bent down to examine her progress.

"Five fingers, my lady." She told her, estimating her dilation with a practiced eye, her tone determinedly cheerful. "You're doing very well. It will not be a long birth, or a difficult one."

If Jane had the strength, she would have slapped her.

Not a long birth?

Not a difficult birth?

How could she say that when she had had Jane walking for hours while her back ached and her feet and ankles felt as if they were swollen to twice their usual size? When pains racked her body every few minutes, the pains becoming longer and stronger, with less and less of a respite in between as the hours passed? When she was so warm that her hair was matted with sweat and her nightgown clung to her body but the midwife still insisted that a great log fire should be kept burning in the grate, with charcoal braziers in each of the four corners of the room, which seemed as though it must be even hotter than Hell?

Had her family left her in the hands of a madwoman?

She was not given much time to contemplate the matter, or any other, as her pains quickened and the urge to push became stronger and stronger.

Her child was ready to enter the world and he would tolerate no further delays.

"That's it, my lady," the midwife said encouragingly as she massaged the swell of Jane's abdomen with a firm hand, making slow, rhythmic circles on her belly. "The head is crowning; it will not be long now."

Jane barely heard a word she was saying. Her body was screaming at her to push and she was more than happy to comply, anxious to have this thing over with.

With a final, heaving shove, she expelled her burden into the midwife's waiting hands and flopped back on the bed, exhausted, listening while the midwife slapped its tiny buttocks to make it cry and hearing the baby's indignant mewling, clearly not one whit impressed by such rough treatment. Once the baby was swaddled in a warm woollen blanket, the midwife held it out to Jane, a proud expression on her face, her pleasure at the successful delivery plain.

"You have a fine little son, my lady." She said, tucking the bundle into Jane's waiting arms. "He may have come a few weeks before his time, but it's done him no harm." She added reassuringly.

Even wrapped up in the woollen blanket, the bundle in her arms felt small and fragile as Jane cradled her son, folding back the blanket a little to peek at the tiny, scrunched up face, the delicate skull with its downy coating of blond, almost white hair, the perfect hands and feet. He was a small baby – as the midwife said, he had made his arrival a few weeks before he was expected – but he was perfectly formed in every way, the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

He was her son but he was also the King's son, a child who, if not for the cruelties of Fate, might have been born the Prince of Wales and the rightful heir to the throne but who was instead condemned to life as a royal bastard, a boy with the blood of Kings running through his veins but no chance that he would ever wear his father's crown or rule over his country.

In a few minutes, when her family were told that the baby was a healthy boy, there would be rejoicing at Wolf Hall, with her father pleased to welcome a new grandson, even if he was a bastard and with Edward and perhaps even Thomas already wondering what benefits they could derive from being uncles to the King's bastard, assuming that the baby's father acknowledged him, and speculating about the titles that the baby might be awarded, whether he might even be given his own establishment, fit for a prince, as little Henry Fitzroy was.

As happy as she was about her son, as much as she rejoiced to have him in her arms at last, Jane couldn't help but be afraid for him, a small part of her wondering if he might be better off if his father refused to acknowledge him, which would mean that he could never be regarded as a potential threat to Prince Harry and would not attract the interest of the Boleyns or the Howards, but she quickly silenced that inner voice, inwardly insisting that of course it would be better for her baby if he was acknowledged as the King's son and given whatever honours, titles and estates his royal father chose to bestow on him.

He had just as much Tudor blood flowing through his veins as Prince Harry and Princess Elizabeth did, after all, and she wanted him to have only the best.

* * *

**_16th February 1537_ **

Since he was first entrusted with the task of being the King's Secretary, a position that had become his due to the patronage of the late Cardinal Wolsey, Thomas Cromwell had made it his business to be aware of everything that happened in the court, in the kingdom and abroad and as Lord Chancellor, he continued this, making sure that he was as well informed about his master's private life as he was about affairs of state, for one could never know when the former was going to impact the latter – the King's love for Anne Boleyn and the resulting 'Great Matter' being a case in point.

He knew, therefore, that Mistress Jane Seymour carried the King's child, one of his spies having brought the information to him several days before the King finally confided in him about the matter, having delayed as long as he could before speaking of it and only confiding in Cromwell because he needed to seek out his assistance in providing the necessary money for Mistress Seymour's care during her pregnancy but without wanting to deal with the matter directly, for fear that the Queen would learn of it.

Two years ago, it would not have mattered.

Two years ago, the King would have made the choice over what he would do about his illegitimate child without worrying about pandering to the Queen's feelings and, if he wished to acknowledge the child as his own, he would never have allowed her to stand in the way of that. She would have been expected to accept the existence of a royal bastard without complaint, as her predecessor was once obliged to, but things were different now.

The King would never be a man to accept petticoat rule, not once he was married to the lady in question at any rate, but even so, his concern for his wife had been marked by all of the courtiers, not just Cromwell himself, and it was plain that he wanted them to be able to rebuild their marriage and to rekindle the warmth and love they had once shared.

Barely a year and a half ago, Queen Anne's complaints about the fact that Cromwell intended to close down all of the monasteries, even those that had received good reports from their inspectors, and that he planned to deliver all of the confiscated wealth directly into the King's hands had been an annoyance, nothing more, and a trivial annoyance at that. Even if she had dared to suggest to the King that the land and money might have been put to better use, for the good of the people, he would not have paid any attention to her and was very likely to have rebuked her for presuming to criticize his plans or those of his people, and far more harshly than Cromwell had dared to when she raised the issue with him.

Now, the King listened to her when she suggested alternative applications for the monastic wealth and, worse still, he indulged her whims, turning several properties over to her so that she might decide how best to utilize their resources. It would have been bad enough if her ambitious plans had wound up coming to nothing – perhaps it might even have cured her of her foolish idealism – but by all accounts, she had done better with them than Cromwell ever would have anticipated, winning the gratitude of the common people who benefited from her projects and even enlisting the aid of her uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, who was shrewd enough to see the wisdom of humouring her, however imprudent her plans might be, now that she once again stood higher in the King's favour than any other.

Cromwell doubted that she had the power to have him cropped at the neck, as she once threatened, even now. The King still relied upon his counsel and his efficiency in carrying out his business, even where unpleasant matters, matters that a weaker man would shy from dealing with, were concerned... but that had once been true of Wolsey, who had acted as advisor to the King when he first came to the throne as a boy just reaching manhood, at a time when the girl who would grow up to be Queen Anne was still just a child in the schoolroom and nobody could have predicted how high she would one day rise. Wolsey had virtually run the country on the King's behalf for years but when he ranged himself against Anne, she was the one left standing.

It would have been foolish of him to forget that and Cromwell was no fool.

As well as that, if something should happen to the King before Prince Harry reached manhood, a possibility that could not be discounted, then under the Act of Succession, the Queen would hold the regency on behalf of her son until he came of age. She would be entitled to select her own Privy councillors and advisors and to rid herself of those she did not wish to work with. The only people allowed to retain power and influence would be those she trusted and liked and it would be far better for Cromwell if he were one of them.

He was not a man to be ruled by his pride so it was very easy for him to swallow it and to once again work diligently on the Queen's behalf, advancing her interests and those of her children. He still firmly believed that an Imperial alliance was in England's best interests but he knew that, in the aftermath of Chapuys' involvement in the attempt on the Queen's life, not to mention the involvement of the Lady Mary, it would not be wise to seem to be too much in favour of an alliance with the Emperor, especially since that same Emperor was insisting on the restoration of the Lady Mary as a legitimate Princess and as the King's heiress a year ago.

The King and Queen had not forgotten and it would be in Cromwell's best interests to tread carefully with regard to the question of this alliance, or any other, at least until he knew where his master stood on the issue, so that he could be guided by his opinion. He must be constantly on his guard, careful never to say or do anything that might offend the King or cause him to doubt his loyalty.

It was only by keeping a constant watch from the crow's nest that a man could hope to weather a storm at sea, and now there was another storm on the horizon.

Now that Jane Seymour was delivered of her child, the King would have to decide what he intended to do about this issue, once and for all. They could ignore it during the months of her pregnancy – Cromwell had even said a prayer that the child might be stillborn, which would solve the King's problem, or a girl, which would mean that he would be less inclined to risk upsetting the apple cart by acknowledging it – but it could be ignored no longer.

Edward Seymour's messenger had delivered his letter to Cromwell and now Cromwell had no choice but to inform the King.

As soon as he knocked on the King's door, he heard the call to come in and saw that the King was in excellent spirits as he sorted through the correspondence he had received that morning, looking up from his dispatches to greet his chancellor with a smile and a nod.

"Good morning, Master Cromwell," he said cheerfully, nodding in the direction of the parchment the other man held. "I hope that's not another dispatch from one of our ambassadors," he remarked in a half-joking tone. "I've just about finished here and I was planning to escape with the Queen and go riding for the rest of the morning."

It was rare for Cromwell to feel tongue tied and ill at ease but this was one of those times. His message was a simple one, requiring only a sentence, a few words, but he found that he could not speak them, knowing that it would anger the King and that, as the only person close at hand, there was a very real risk that he might face the brunt of royal anger.

"What is it, man?" Henry demanded, growing impatient when Cromwell did not speak his piece straight away. One look at his face was enough to confirm that, whatever it was he had to say, it was unlikely to be something that Henry wanted to hear but, even so, the news was not likely to improve with keeping. "Spit it out – I promise that I won't have you clapped in the Tower if it's bad news." He teased but his joke fell flat.

"Mistress Seymour was delivered of a son late yesterday evening. Her brother, Edward, sent me this message." He laid the letter on the table in front of Henry, carefully keeping his tone and his face neutral, as though this news was of no greater import to the King than the birth of any child to a minor member of the gentry would be. He was also careful not to refer to the child as Henry's. It was for him to decide whether or not he would accept it as such and, until he did, nobody could presume to refer to it as his, even if every courtier with sense would be able to guess the baby's paternity.

If the King wished to pretend otherwise, then they would have to pretend with him.

"A son..." Henry said flatly, picking up Edward Seymour's letter and scanning the neatly written lines.

Jane had had his son, a child who might do irreparable damage to his relationship with Anne.

It would be so easy for him to deny the child, to refuse to acknowledge it... _him_ as his own son and he knew that if he did not claim the boy, neither Jane nor her family would ever presume to go against his decision by identifying him as the boy's father.

It would be so easy for him to toss this letter aside, to send a large purse of money, sufficient to pay for the upkeep and education of the child to Wolf Hall with a message making it plain that he did not wish for any further contact with Jane or with her child, ordering that none of them should ever name him as the child's father or even consider using the surname of Fitzroy to identify him as a royal bastard, enabling him to shield Anne from the knowledge of the boy's existence, to forget about the child and to move on with his wife and with his legitimate children... but he couldn't.

He couldn't command Cromwell to deal with it, leaving the issue in his capable hands and resting easy in the knowledge that it would be handled properly and with the utmost discretion.

This was his child, his _son_ , and Henry wanted to claim him.

He wanted the world to know that he had fathered another fine boy, even if that boy was born out of wedlock.

Was it so wrong for a man to want to claim his son, even if he knew that his wife would be hurt by it? Surely the greater wrong would be for him to refuse to own that he had fathered this innocent baby boy, to leave his own son fatherless, without even the security of a name, knowing that the world would not treat him kindly.

Surely he would be able to find a way to explain it to Anne, to make sure that she understood that his decision to acknowledge Jane's child had no bearing on his love for her, or on the positions or the rights of their own children. Harry and Elizabeth would not be affected; they were his legitimate children, the children born of his marriage to the woman he loved more than any other. If he believed that acknowledging Jane's child would harm them or put their positions in doubt in any way, he would never dream of doing so but it would not.

They would be safe and, given time, Anne would come to understand that.

Given time, he was sure that she would be able to accept his illegitimate son; she had been willing to reach out to Mary, after all, and without any prompting from him, inviting her to return to court if she could only swallow her pride and acknowledge her as Queen, Henry told himself, conveniently forgetting that while Mary was the daughter of a woman who had been Anne's rival, she was born long before he ever laid eyes on Anne, much less fell in love with her and promised to always be loyal and true, whereas Jane's child was conceived during their marriage, a product of his infidelity.

Half afraid that if he did not go to tell Anne now, he would lose his nerve and change his mind, Henry hastily rose, gesturing with a wave of his hand to indicate that Cromwell was dismissed. He picked up the letter, making his way through the palace, waving aside the courtiers who hurried forward to speak to him, not stopping until he had reached the door of Anne's quarters.

Madge Shelton opened the door, curtseying deeply as he walked past her. "Your Majesty."

Anne was sitting at her writing desk by the window, examining a sheaf of papers and she looked up with a smile when he entered, standing to greet him.

"You may leave us." Henry told the ladies, his tone sharper than he intended. The last thing he needed was for them to have an audience present for this interview.

Although they looked puzzled by this abrupt command, none of Anne's ladies dared to argue and, making their curtsies to him and to Anne, they hastened out of the room, none of them even daring to hover outside the door in the hopes of overhearing something.

"Is something wrong, Henry?" Anne asked, concerned by the expression on her husband's face and by his obvious discomfort and wondering what it was he had to say that could not be spoken of in her hearing. A horrifying thought struck her. "The children..." They had both been well when they visited them at Hatfield yesterday but sickness could strike quickly, especially where young children were concerned and that was definitely something that could put so grave an expression on Henry's face.

"No, no, the children are well, I haven't heard any reports saying otherwise." Henry hastened to reassure her but her query had robbed him of some of his resolve and the words he had planned to say would not come out. Instead, he pointed to the papers she was working on, hoping to distract her. "What are they? More about the religious houses?"

"No – although everything is going very well with them," Anne answered, puzzled by his behaviour. "I have been looking through Lady Bryan's reports on the prospective governesses for Elizabeth, trying to pick the right candidate. I want somebody well educated, so she can give Elizabeth a good grounding in different subjects before she's old enough to be taught by a tutor, somebody sensible and kind but I don't want somebody who's too serious. Elizabeth _did_ ask for somebody who could play, after all."

Henry nodded tightly. "Who do you think you'll pick?" He asked, as much to have something to say as from genuine curiousity.

"I was thinking of Mistress Catherine Champernowne." Anne said, handing him the letter the lady in question had written describing her education and her background, together with Lady Bryan's notes on her. "She seems ideal; she's younger than most of the prospective governesses but she's the best educated of them by far and, according to Lady Bryan, she's a very pleasant woman. She sounds like somebody that Elizabeth could like, so I'd like to give her a trial – if that is agreeable to you." She added cautiously, feeling more and more troubled about his sombre mood.

"Whatever you think best." Henry responded absently, turning the letter he held over in his hands, clutching it so hard that it crumpled, an action that Anne did not fail to spot.

"Henry, please tell me what's the matter." She asked quietly, unable to bear the discomfort of knowing that something was happening, something bad, something that affected her if Henry's demeanour was any indication, and that it was being kept from her.

"Mistress Seymour has had a son." Henry blurted, feeling as though the words would choke him if he did not say them aloud. "Mistress Seymour has had _my_ son." He elaborated, as though he thought that Anne could possibly have misunderstood the gravity of the situation or how nearly it affected them.

Anne's mouth was dry and it seemed to take a great deal of effort on her part to utter a single word: "When?"

"Yesterday."

Anne wasn't sure whether she should laugh or cry. If the baby was born yesterday, then it was certain that he had been conceived while she was confined to bed, awaiting Harry's birth, safely out of the way of her husband's budding romance with Jane. While she was kept to bed like an invalid, monitored day and night and forbidden to do anything without the approval of Dr Linacre or Mistress Porter, Henry must have been having a fine time with that Seymour wench, despite everybody's assurances that he scarcely had a moment to spare for her during the day. The wonder was that he had been able to drag himself away from his beloved, from that pallid slut who pretended such virtue but who was happy to take advantage of the fact that she had Henry to herself while Anne was pregnant in order to seduce him.

She had been so happy when she emerged after being churched and found that Jane Seymour had been summarily dismissed from the court and bundled back to Wolf Hall, on Henry's orders and with every indication that her banishment from court was to be a permanent one. She had thought that it was proof of Henry's renewed love for her in the wake of Harry's birth, that almost losing them both had taught him not to take her for granted and that her enforced absence from the court had made him miss her.

What a fool she was!

She thought that he sent Jane away out of love for her when the truth was that he had simply grown tired of his conquest... or had he known that Jane was carrying his child when he dismissed her, wanting for her to be in the country for the duration of her pregnancy, wanting to have her out of the way while he played the faithful husband and devoted father for the benefit of foreign ambassadors, not wanting them to return to their masters with tales of the King of England's mistress?

Now that the child was born, should she expect to be told that Mistress Seymour was once more to be appointed as one of her ladies-in-waiting, so that she and Henry could continue their tryst under her nose?

She remembered hearing that when Henry's son by Lady Blount was born, Katherine had put in an appearance at the celebration in his honour, drinking a toast to the baby, to the son that she had not been able to give Henry, before she left.

Would she be expected to do the same for this bastard?

The book Henry's grandmother, Lady Margaret Beaufort, had compiled about the protocol governing life at court was a thorough one, meticulously detailed and covering almost every eventuality but Anne was fairly certain that it made no mention of the proper behaviour expected of a Queen regarding the birth of the King's illegitimate child.

Her instincts were screaming at her to shout, to argue, to berate Henry for betraying her, and at a time when she had needed his love and his support more than ever. She wanted to lash out at him, to demand to know how he could have done such a thing to the mother of his son but her tongue and her body would not obey her, the memories of other times when she had spoken filling her thoughts, driving out thoughts of Jane or of her child as they replayed in her mind's eye.

The first time she dared to take Henry to task directly over his mistresses...

_He lifted his hand, indicating that she should be quiet. He may have allowed her to get away with sending Lady Eleanor Luke away from the court, accepting her excuse that the other woman had stolen from her with scarcely a murmur, but he was not prepared to tolerate her interference a second time. "That's enough."_

_"No. No, you told me, you always told me that we should be truthful with each other." How could he not remember the day he said that, when their love was new, just blossoming? How could he not remember what they had been to one another such a short time ago? "You said it was the definition of love." She reminded him, willing him to remember how deeply they had loved one another in those days and to understand that she still loved him just as much as she ever had._

_Henry's voice was cold when he responded, unmoved by her appeal, not caring how much his words hurt her. "Then here's the truth: you must shut your eyes and endure, like your betters have done before you." He told her bluntly, laying a vindictive stress on the word 'betters', leaving no possible doubt about who it was he meant._

_"How can you say that to me? Don't you know I love you a thousand times more than Katherine ever did?"_

_He sprang to his feet, striding over to her until his face was so close to his that she could see the angry glare of his eyes and the flecks of spittle flying from his mouth as he roared at her, furious with her for her temerity. "And don't you know that I can drag you down as quickly as I raised you?" He demanded, the ferocity in his tone making her flinch, though she determinedly held her ground, unable to back down, even though she sensed that to do so might win her a respite from his anger. "'Tis lucky you have your bed already, madam, because if you did not, I would not give it to you again!"_

Her own family counselled her not to argue with him, to hide her feelings.

_"You're the Queen of England, for the love of God, act like it!" George's voice was impatient at first, and then he knelt down in front of her, laying a hand on her shoulder and adopting a more persuasive tone. "After all, you were a lady to Queen Katherine, you saw and heard how she behaved. It seemed to me she never betrayed her real feelings. Can you not be more like her?" He asked, caressing her shoulder._

_"More like Katherine?" Did he have the slightest understanding of what he was asking of her? Couldn't he see that to emulate Katherine, to be silent and compliant while her husband worshipped another woman right in front of her, went against her very being? At least Katherine had never truly been Henry's wife! She was his true wife and after being the love of his life for so long, seeing the man she loved drift away from her, towards others, felt as though a dagger was being plunged into her heart._

_"Yes! You heard me! At least **seem** happy," he caught her roughly by the chin, forcing her to meet his gaze, "not a heap of misery!"_

Papa viewed Henry's mistresses as threats only when they put her position, and that of her family, in jeopardy. He never considered it in terms of how it made her _feel_ to see Henry dallying with other women, shunning her company and her bed in favour of theirs.

That wasn't what mattered to him.

_She paced her chamber, listening with scarcely half an ear as her father stressed how vital it was that she deliver a son, for the umpteenth time, barely hearing his exhortations that she should guard against any excitement or stress, or his advice to shut herself away from the world as much as possible – advice that she had ended up being obliged to follow, whether she liked it or not._

_"I wish there was a way that I could remove Mistress Seymour from among my ladies but I dare not, I think it would anger the King." Even then, she had known that there was something different about Jane Seymour, that she represented a more tangible threat than Eleanor Luke or Henry's previous playthings had. Even after Henry was back on his feet after his fall, he delayed a couple of hours before paying her a courtesy visit, to reassure her that he had taken no permanent harm from his accident but, if gossip could be credited – and there was usually a strong element of truth to it – he had spoken Jane's name mere minutes after he awoke._

_"This is what I mean!" Her father snapped impatiently. "If you fret about such little matters, then your thoughts may poison the child inside you!"_

_"...your thoughts may poison the child inside you."_

_"...poison the child..."_

Those words reverberated through her mind, over and over, faster and faster, until only the words 'poison' and 'child' were audible.

She couldn't remember what it was she had wanted to speak to Henry about, why she had chosen that particular time to pay a visit to his chambers, but she remembered walking into the room to find Jane Seymour sitting on his knee, remembered her furious, hysterical reaction and Henry's hasty attempts to soothe her, remembered being escorted back to her quarters and put to bed like an overtired child, more because Henry had had no idea what else he could do for her than because she needed a nap... and she remembered waking up a few hours later to find that she was bleeding.

She almost lost Harry.

Had Dr Linacre not arrived so quickly, had he not been so skilful, then there was a very strong chance that she would have lost him, something that would, almost certainly, have meant that she would swiftly be following in Katherine's footsteps, discarded and forgotten. Perhaps Jane Seymour would have become Henry's wife, with her son born the legitimate prince, heir to Harry's throne, instead of as just another royal bastard.

She almost lost her baby boy.

The thought haunted her, even now when she knew that he was safe and well at Hatfield, and it was that thought that kept her from shouting now, that froze the tears in her eyes before they could fall, that kept her tongue from uttering a single word and that kept her emotions bridled, preventing them from governing her reaction.

"Anne?" Henry caught her by the shoulders, turning her so that she was looking at him but her eyes were blank, as though she was looking at something far away, something that he could not see, and her face was expressionless. "Say something!" He urged her, frightened by her demeanour and only half aware of the irony. At one time, when he was furious and frustrated with Anne over her insistence on poking her nose where it did not belong and prying into his personal affairs instead of taking advantage of his discretion to shut her eyes to his liaisons and spare herself the unnecessary hurt and embarrassment, he would have given almost anything to make her hold her tongue but now that she was being quiet about it, he wanted her to react, even if her reaction was an angry one.

Katherine endured his affairs with his mistresses without a word of protest but Anne was not Katherine. Anne argued and protested and, as irritating as that could sometimes be, at least it was proof that she cared, that she loved him enough to be jealous and make a scene. Now, it seemed as though her hurt went deeper than before, too deep for her to be able to express it. She did not argue because she knew there was no point. She did not ask him to promise that the offence would never be repeated because she no longer trusted him to keep his word.

If she cried, he could have comforted and reassured her, soothing her with promises that Jane meant nothing to him and that, if not for the child, he would have forgotten about her entirely.

If she lost her temper, shouted and argued, he could have placated her or even shouted in return, reminding her that taking mistresses was a King's prerogative, that he had needs, as all men did, and that she had been in no condition to satisfy him at that time.

If she became hysterical, he could have summoned Dr Linacre to administer a calming draught, to settle her before she could make herself sick.

He had no defence against silence.

She did not fight when he pulled her into his arms, walking her over to one of the chairs and sitting down with her in his lap but she did not respond to his touch either, sitting motionless in his lap, her eyes still unnervingly blank.

He hugged her close, stroking her hair. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry." He said at last, kissing her temple and rocking her a little, as he would a child who was frightened or upset about something. "If I could take it back... If you don't want me to, I won't acknowledge the child. I'll never see him, I swear." He vowed, meaning every word of his promise.

His words seemed to penetrate her haze, prompting a reaction and, after a few moments of painful silence, she shook her head slowly, her voice soft as she spoke. "No. It's not his fault."

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" He pressed anxiously, worried about the detached tone she spoke in and wondering if she was in shock, if she truly understood what she was saying or if she would come to regret her generosity later, when he admitted that the child was his and it was too late to take it back. He wanted to be able to acknowledge his son but he also wanted to keep from hurting Anne more than he had already and he was afraid that the two desires might be mutually exclusive.

Anne nodded mutely, determinedly reining her thoughts under her control again, knowing that she needed to be able to think clearly. She knew Henry well enough to know that, while he might by willing to refrain from acknowledging the child for her sake today, it was something that he was very likely to come to regret in time and, when that happened, he would resent her for being the reason why he had not acknowledged his son. In any case, whatever her feelings about Jane Seymour, the woman's child was innocent and he would suffer more than she did if Henry abandoned him.

Henry kissed her gently. "Thank you, my love," he said quietly, her generosity making him feel worse about what he had done. He was sure that there would not be many women who would not take advantage of their husband's offer not to recognize the bastard he had fathered. He wanted to promise that, while he would see to it that the baby was properly cared for, as befitted a son of his, she would never have to worry about him bringing the child to court without her consent and expecting her to receive him, nor would she have to worry about the prospect of receiving Jane or even laying eyes on her again. As she was the mother of his son, something would have to be done for Jane, a marriage arranged if she wished, but he would leave that in Cromwell's hands. He could deal with it. "I won't see her again," he promised, desperate to find a way to make this right. "I won't see her and I won't send her any letters or messages."

Anne nodded again, her body relaxing slightly, although her tension did not entirely dissipate.

"It's going to be alright, you'll see," Henry promised, as much to reassure himself as to console Anne. "This… this thing doesn't have to change anything, not for us. We can still be a family, you and me and Elizabeth and Harry. We can still start again, can't we?" He asked, his tone pleading, needing for her to tell him that this was the case, that they could still have the fresh start he wanted, the one he was planning before he learned that Jane was carrying his child. "I want it to be the way it was before."

* * *

He was not going to stay long.

He had made his mind up on that score as soon as he set out from the court, bound for Wolf Hall, determined that regardless of how late it was when he got there, he was going to refuse all offers to stay the night, even though one of the rooms was designated as 'the King's room' since his last visit there, or even to stay for supper.

He was only visiting to see his son, not for any other reason, and once he had done that, he would return to Whitehall and to Anne. Although he knew that her ladies would take excellent care of her should she need anything and although he had privately asked Anne's father to look in on her, in case she became upset after he left and needed somebody to comfort her, he did not want to leave her alone a moment longer than necessary. As it was, he had not been able to bring himself to set out for Wolf Hall for hours after he had intended to, too worried about Anne to feel comfortable leaving her, despite her assurance that he could go and that she would be alright.

Accompanied by only four guards as an escort and leaving behind the royal standard to avoid attracting undue attention, he rode hard, determined to get there and back and quickly as he could.

As he rode, he felt a twinge of pain in his leg, where he had taken an injury during a recent jousting match, the one in which he had worn Jane's favour, an injury that had caused an old, healed wound to open up, forming an ulcer that had left him limping and in pain for several weeks.

He had thought that it was healed but as he rode, the pain increased, as though a red hot coal had been set on the wound.

Henry could have laughed at the memory of how he had believed that wearing Jane's favour had saved him; he had always been remarkably lucky when it came to jousting, winning almost all of his matches and never suffering more than a minor injury but when he wore her favour, he nearly died and was left with an injury that might continue to flare up for the rest of his life.

Maybe this was his punishment for wearing her favour in the first place.

Sir John was waiting to receive him in the hall of the manor, flanked by his two sons, and all three men bowed deeply when Henry entered, clearly just as discomfited by this situation as he was, if not more so, and although he could see that they were relieved that he had arrived, guessing that he intended to acknowledge his son, none of them dared to allude to the child until Henry mentioned him first.

It was not their place to do so.

"How is my son?" He asked at last, putting the Seymour men out of their misery and knowing that once the words were spoken, there could be no calling them back. For better or worse, he had accepted the boy as his.

"He is well, Your Majesty," Edward Seymour was the first of his family to speak, volunteering the information when he saw that Sir John, who by rights should have been the one to give the news, was awkward and tongue-tied in front of the man who was both his King and the father of his illegitimate grandson. "The midwife has assured us that he is healthy and likely to thrive."

"Good." Henry nodded acknowledgement of the words, saying nothing further for a few minutes.

"Would Your Majesty like to see the child?" Edward asked cautiously, although he knew very well that it was not his place to make such a suggestion, that it was for Henry to decide when – or if – he wanted to see the boy.

"I would. Have him brought down here." Henry ordered, before they could get the wrong impression and assume that he wanted to be shown up to the birthing chamber, where he could pay a visit to Jane as well as to the baby.

"Whatever Your Majesty wishes," Sir John said, finally recovering his tongue and sending one of the maidservants upstairs to fetch the child. The girl returned presently, bobbing a curtsey as she deposited a wrapped bundle in her master's arms. Carefully cradling the child, Sir John took a few steps towards Henry, bowing as he held out the bundle for his inspection.

Gingerly taking the baby from the other man's arms, Henry lifted him out of his cocoon of blankets so that he could inspect him properly. He was small, his skin still slightly red from birth, and it was obvious at a glance that he was going to be fair like his mother instead of dark like his father. The downy hair was white-blond and the eyes were of so pale a blue that they were likely to keep their colour. Henry predicted that he was going to be very like Jane, just as Harry was the image of him. He couldn't see any Tudor traits in this child, he decided, he was a Seymour to the life… although that might change when he was a little older.

The baby mewled in protest at the chill of the air in the hall and Henry hastily rewrapped him in his blanket, not wanting him to catch a cold. He looked too small to be able to shake off even a trifling ailment.

After so many years of waiting and praying for a son, he had been given two in the space of less than a year; Anne had given him Harry, healthy and robust and already alert and taking notice, the legitimate son he had craved for so long, his little Prince of Wales and the heir to his throne but Jane had also given him this boy, as much his son as Harry was but a boy who would never be his heir and whose illegitimacy would thankfully keep him and his descendants from ever posing a threat to his half-brother's line, the true, royal line.

"Has Mistress Seymour chosen a name for him?" He asked, taking note of the disappointment that Sir John's eyes betrayed at his choice of such a formal name for Jane and at his decision not to select a name for the baby himself. Edward's expression revealed little but he was always a cold fish and the younger brother, Thomas, looked thoughtful rather than disappointed, willing to accept the issue and to determine how he could benefit from it at a later date.

"Janey told me that she was thinking of naming him Edward, for our dear brother, if Your Majesty did not object." Thomas piped up with choirboy innocence, clapping a hand on his brother's back as he spoke and pretending not to notice Edward's momentary frown at his words.

Given Henry's unenthusiastic reaction to the baby, it seemed that the elder Seymour had no desire to be namesake to his new nephew, regardless of Jane's wishes… if they were Jane's wishes at all, Henry thought shrewdly, not trusting the innocent expression on Thomas' face and wondering if he had lied in order to put his brother in an uncomfortable position.

Either way, Edward was as good a name as any other, so he nodded his assent.

"Very well," He decided, passing the baby back to Sir John. "Let him be called Edward Fitzroy – Lord Edward Fitzroy." He amended. As his illegitimate daughter was allowed to bear the title of 'Lady', it was fitting that his illegitimate son should be styled 'Lord', at least by courtesy, since as a bastard he had no claim to any noble title, even if he was a King's son. "Master Cromwell will be in touch with you shortly regarding the provision that is to be made for Lord Edward and, if Mistress Seymour wishes for a marriage to be arranged for her, he will see to the details." He informed them.

"Your Majesty is very gracious and most generous," Edward said solemnly, his tone so even that Henry couldn't tell if he was being sincere or if he felt that more should be done for his sister and for his infant namesake.

"Most generous." Sir John echoed his son's words, unable to conceal his emotions as well as Edward could and clearly disappointed to see that this was to be the end of the matter, as far as Henry was concerned, at least until baby Edward was older. Cradling his grandson in his arms, he glanced back towards the stairs. "If Your Majesty wishes, I am sure that my daughter is awake and strong enough for a visit…" He began.

Henry scowled at him. Sir John couldn't know of the promise he had made to Anne, he knew that, but even so he felt angry with him for suggesting that he break his word by going up to see Jane. His marriage had already suffered enough damage because of her and he was not going to add to it and betray Anne any further by going up to see Jane.

Because she was the mother of his bastard son, he would honour his responsibility towards them and see to it that they were both provided for but he would not pay a call on Jane, pretending that he was pleased to be there or that he was not angry with her for putting his marriage in jeopardy.

"No," he responded curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode back outside, doing his best not to allow them to see him limping, barking for his escort to make ready to accompany him back to Whitehall immediately and leaving the disappointed Seymours standing in his wake, not daring to follow him or to ask him to stay.

From the garden in front of the house, he could see a light from one of the windows above… from Jane's window but he would not look up, nor would he look back at the doorway, where the Seymour men were waiting to see him off.

Climbing into the saddle, he spurred his horse forward, his escort obediently following in his wake as he returned to Whitehall, returning to Anne.

He would find a way to make amends.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**_17th February 1537_ **

Dr Linacre's brow was furrowed with concern as he stood next to the Queen's bed, gesturing towards her wrist and waiting for her to nod permission before he took it between his thumb and forefinger, estimating the speed of her heartbeat and finding that it was a little too rapid for his liking, although not dangerously so. He touched her cheek and her forehead with a practiced hand, his frown deepening when he felt the heat of her skin. While, like her heartbeat, her temperature was not cause for serious alarm, she was definitely feverish.

His patient tolerated his examination without a murmur of protest, answering his questions about her other symptoms, including the headache that had prompted the King to summon him in the first place, and for Lady Mary Stafford to put out an announcement that her sister was indisposed and would not be able to receive any visitors today, but remaining silent otherwise. Once his examination was concluded, Linacre stepped back, allowing Anne's sister to settle her back into bed, smiling encouragingly at her as he rummaged in his bag for one of his bottles of medicine, selecting one of his tonics, together with a bottle of poppy syrup.

"There is nothing for Your Majesty to be unduly concerned about," he told her kindly. "The fever is not a high one and I can give you some poppy syrup for the headache – and to help you sleep." He added, seeing the shadows under her eyes and shrewdly guessing that last night had not been a restful one for her.

It was no great surprise.

By now, everybody at court knew that Mistress Seymour had borne a son and that the King had acknowledged the child as his own, allowing it to bear the name Fitzroy, traditionally reserved for royal bastards, and decreeing that he should be styled as Lord. There had been no celebration in honour of the child's birth, and no public announcement of the fact that the King had a new son but, even so, gossip was still circulating freely through the courts. People speculated over whether the title of Lord was to be the extent of the royal favour showered on the infant's head or if the little bastard would be made a peer in his own right as soon as he was old enough to be trusted to behave for the ceremony of ennoblement, as the young Duke of Richmond had been, and whether he might even be sent to Hatfield, to be brought up in the royal nurseries with the Prince of Wales and with the Princess Elizabeth.

It was not known how the Queen had reacted to the news of the child's arrival when the King broke it to her but most people could hazard a shrewd guess. She had a well-known tendency to be highly strung and to react angrily and vocally to news of the King's infidelities, something that many at court professed to consider unseemly, especially in a lady of her exalted station, but that Dr Linacre privately sympathized with her over.

While he did not doubt that the headache she complained of was genuine and while he knew that she could not feign her fever any more than she could feign the speed of her heartbeat and the pallor of her face, Linacre was confident that her symptoms were not the result of any contagion or physical ailment as much as they were signs of an emotional upset. The human body was a marvellous thing and its connection to the mind and to the emotions should never be underestimated; they were far more closely linked than many people would have credited, something a shrewd physician should always be conscious of when he was examining a patient and making a diagnosis. In a situation like this, where a person's illness was likely to stem from causes other than a physical ailment, usual treatments such as bleeding and purging would do them no good and were far more likely to harm them.

Under the circumstances, it did not surprise him that the Queen was in no hurry to mingle with the courtiers, knowing that they would be whispering about her behind her back and speculating about the impact that the birth of the King's illegitimate son would have on her position and those of her children, nor did it surprise him that her body had manifested this indisposition to provide her with a reason to stay in the privacy of her rooms for a few days, to give the gossip a chance to die down a little before she braved the court again.

Even if she had not truly felt unwell, he certainly would not have blamed her for feigning illness in order to win herself a respite, however brief that respite might be. Eventually, she would have to appear in public and brazen out the gossip but that day did not have to be today.

"It is nothing that a few days of rest and quiet will not set to rights, Your Majesty," he reassured her as he passed her a small, narrow glass goblet, containing a dose of poppy syrup, waiting for her to drain the goblet before he took it from her hand and set it on the table by the bed. "We will soon have you on your feet again, gracing the court." He predicted cheerfully, setting a second bottle on the table. "I would like you to take one dose of this tonic – about two fingers' measure," he demonstrated, picking up the goblet again and lining two of his fingers against the side of it before setting it down, "three times a day for the next three days; before breakfast, at noon and before you go to sleep." He instructed, glancing up at Lady Mary Stafford to make sure that she understood his instructions for her sister's care.

Lady Mary's finger measure would be different to his own, of course, but he did not worry unduly about that. The tonic was intended primarily to strengthen the Queen, and the slight change in the quantity would make no difference to her, one way or the other. He suspected that she would recover just as quickly, whether he gave her one of his most potent medicines or if he dosed her with a medically useless mixture of water coloured with berry juices and sweetened with sugar or honey but, just in case, he would tread carefully and give her something to help build up her defences against a physical sickness.

Anne eyed the bottle with a wary eye, too accustomed to Dr Linacre's remedies not to be slightly cautious when it came to the medicines he prepared for her. "I suppose it tastes foul." She remarked, the poppy syrup making her feel sleepy and robbing her of what seemed like every ounce of tact she possessed. Her sister tried to hush her, appalled that she would speak to the poor physician like that when he was only trying to help her but Dr Linacre only smiled, not in the least offended by her words.

"Your Majesty knows me too well." He said good-naturedly. "In my experience, the more palatable a remedy is to the tongue, the less potent it is in combating sickness, as a general rule. I am certain that nobody could make that complaint about one of my tonics."

"No," Anne agreed, yawning, the poppy syrup doing its work and sending her drifting off to sleep.

Addressing Lady Mary in a hushed tone, Dr Linacre issued a few final instructions, directing her to make sure that her sister stayed in bed until the next morning at least.

"But if Her Majesty feels well enough to get out of bed tomorrow, she may move to a day bed in the outer chamber." He added, not wanting to keep her cooped up unnecessarily. "I don't believe that there is any risk of contagion, but even so, it would be better if the numbers of ladies attending her were restricted for a day or two, to give her a chance to rest quietly and to recover." He directed. "And if there are any problems, my lady, please let me know at once." He instructed.

"Of course." Lady Mary responded immediately, tucking the bedcovers more closely around her sister.

Satisfied that she could be trusted to be as diligent a nurse as any lady of the Queen's household would be, especially since she was her sister, Dr Linacre left her in charge and exited the Queen's apartment.

Outside the suite of rooms, the King was waiting, an anxious expression on his face, just as he had been waiting little over a year ago, when the Queen almost lost the baby boy she carried... that too had been caused by the King's relationship with Mistress Seymour.

It was not Dr Linacre's place to question the conduct of his sovereign, much less to criticize it but he was privately amazed by the idea that a man who was fortunate enough to be married to a lady as beautiful and as captivating as the Queen could ever bring himself to contemplate the idea of straying with another woman, and he was especially surprised when he heard that the King's fancy had fallen on Mistress Seymour. Although she was pretty – perhaps more conventionally pretty than Queen Anne, with the pale colouring and blonde hair so prized in ladies – she was reputed to be one of the shyest, dullest ladies of the court, not a woman that Dr Linacre or anybody else would have considered likely to capture the King's interest, much less hold it as long as she had.

Sometimes, one could never predict these things.

The concern in the King's eyes seemed genuine as he hastened towards him, anxious for news of his wife's health. "How is she?"

"There is nothing for Your Majesty to be alarmed about," Linacre told him, employing the same soothing, reassuring tone he had used with Anne. "The Queen has a mild fever, one brought on by a slight imbalance in the humours and that has caused the headache she is suffering from. The best thing for her is a few days of rest and quiet and she will soon be back on her feet; she is young and healthy. I have also prescribed a tonic to aid in Her Majesty's recovery," he added hastily, knowing how much faith Henry placed in pills, infusions and assorted other tonics and medicinal concoctions.

Had he not prescribed _something_ , the King might have thought that his examination had not been thorough enough, perhaps even sought a second opinion from another doctor, a man who might dose the Queen with every remedy he could think of, heedless of the harm that strong medicines might do to her body when she did not truly stand in need of them.

"Good, good." Henry glanced back towards the door of Anne's apartment, even though nothing could be heard from within. He lowered his voice before speaking again, as though he thought that Anne might be able to hear him and be disturbed by the noise. "Is she asleep?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. I administered a dose of poppy syrup and the Queen fell asleep almost at once."

"She didn't sleep well last night." Henry murmured, more to himself than to Dr Linacre.

True to his resolve, he had wasted no time in getting back to the palace the previous night, arriving back in time to eat a light supper alone with Anne in her rooms before they retired to bed. If she had been crying while he was away, there was no sign of it when he returned. She was dry-eyed and utterly calm when she greeted him with a light kiss, behaving as though he had been out hunting or at a late meeting of the Privy Council instead of paying a visit to his bastard son. She was quieter than usual when they ate but, under the circumstances, he could hardly fault her for that.

When they went to bed, Henry fell asleep almost at once, tired out by his ride, but when he woke up suddenly in the middle of the night, Anne was lying wide awake by his side, her eyes wide and staring. He took her in his arms, stroking her hair and waiting until she had drowsed off before succumbing to sleep again himself but when he woke up in the early morning, only a couple of hours later, Anne was already awake. Her pale face, drawn with pain, and her overly warm skin had prompted him to forbid her to stir from the bed and when her ladies arrived to help her dress for the day, he dispatched one of them to fetch Dr Linacre and bring him there at once.

"Sleepless nights can certainly do the body considerable harm." Dr Linacre agreed. If he was an ordinary doctor, dealing with the ordinary husband of an ordinary patient, he would have made it plain to Henry that the best way – perhaps the _only_ way – to avoid another incident like this one was for him to be a thoughtful, loving and faithful husband to his wife but a royal physician did not enjoy the same freedom to speak his mind as an ordinary doctor did, so he was obliged to hold his tongue.

Had he been able to read Henry's thoughts, he would have had the slight satisfaction of knowing that he was thinking along very similar lines, worried about Anne and knowing that this sudden illness and the news he had broken to her yesterday were not unconnected. A sharp twinge of pain shot through his leg again, an unpleasant reminder of the pain he had endured on his ride to and from Wolf Hall yesterday, and he rubbed the injured area with an absent hand, a gesture that was not lost on Dr Linacre.

If he was dealing with an ordinary man, Dr Linacre would have immediately offered to examine him, to see if he could do anything to ease his obvious pain but he could not forget that Henry was his King and that he therefore could not be the one to suggest an examination, not before his master chose to tell him of his symptoms and seek his advice. He stood there in silence, unable to leave until he was dismissed, hoping that the King would not be too proud and too ashamed to confess his physical infirmity and that he would allow him to help him.

Henry's thoughts were still on Anne rather than on his leg. "Will I be able to visit her – later in the day, when she's awake?" He elaborated. The last thing he wanted was to disturb Anne; she would need to be able to sleep if she was to recover.

"Yes, Your Majesty, there is no danger of contagion." Dr Linacre assured him, before daringly adding. "And I think that it might perhaps be better if the Queen did have your company, to cheer her and aid in her recovery. I believe it will help her more than any tonic I can prescribe."

"Thank you, Doctor." The note of dismissal in Henry's tone was clear, and just in case Dr Linacre might have missed it, he indicated with a wave of his hand that the physician should leave him.

"Excuse me, Your Majesty." With a deep bow, Dr Linacre began to back away, his eyes lowered, worried about the King and hoping that he would not have cause to regret his decision not to seek medical advice. He was halfway down the corridor when he was halted by Henry's call.

"Dr Linacre!"

"Yes, Your Majesty?" Dr Linacre hurried back, relieved.

Henry gestured to his leg, not wanting to speak of his infirmity and knowing that Dr Linacre would understand the gesture.

Dr Linacre nodded comprehension. "I will do what I can, Your Majesty." He promised.

* * *

"Are you certain? Are you absolutely certain?" Jane Boleyn, the Countess of Ormonde, pressed eagerly, her excitement palpable.

The midwife who had been examining her smiled indulgently at her enthusiasm, nodding confirmation. "As certain as anyone can be this early in the day, Lady Ormonde." She said, not wanting to allow the other woman to get her hopes up but instinctively knowing that her cautious tone would not make the slightest impression on the delighted lady. "When you feel the baby quicken, you will know for certain that you carry a child."

"Thank you!" Ecstatic, Jane pressed a fistful of coins into the surprised woman's hands, far more than her usual fee. "Thank you!"

She hadn't dared to believe that it was true, even after she missed her course. She counted the days anxiously, waking every morning and expecting that her shift would be stained with blood, unable to believe that she could be so blessed, but when a full month passed without any sign of her courses and when she began to feel sick in the morning, her breasts tender, she dared to voice her hopes to her husband and he had sent for the midwife, who confirmed the happy news.

She was going to be a mother at last!

George had been chased out of the bedchamber when the midwife arrived, as he could not be present for so personal an examination but he was waiting outside in their living chamber, a broad grin on his face when she emerged. "Well?" He asked genially, although the joy in Jane's face answered his question.

"Yes." Jane nodded emphatically, placing a hand over her belly and beaming when George gave her a light kiss on the lips, placing his large hand over hers.

"That's wonderful news, my dear." His grin widened. "Father will be thrilled."

"I'm going to pray that it's a boy," Jane vowed solemnly. "I'll pray for it every day."

Although he did not love her and although the idea that he would soon have a respite from her company and from the need to keep up a pretence of being a loving, devoted husband was far more thrilling to him than the news of his impending fatherhood, George couldn't help but soften at that, remembering Anne's distress over her inability to give the King the son he craved and the strain she was placed under due to the need for a male heir to secure the succession and to safeguard her own position and that of her little daughter.

He might not love Jane, or even like her much but he would not want her to endure the heartache that Anne had gone through.

"Don't worry about the sex," he told her kindly. "That's in God's hands. If it turns out that you have our daughter in there, I'll be thrilled with her, I promise." If his father could hear him, he was likely to rail at him for voicing such an unorthodox thought, and perhaps he would even have given him a cuff on the ear for tempting Fate, despite the fact that he was a grown man who should have outgrown such paternal chastisement a long time ago but George couldn't help but think that it might be _better_ if his firstborn child was a daughter. It would certainly provide him with an ample excuse to try again as soon as possible, keeping Jane in the country even longer.

Jane beamed up at him, thinking herself very fortunate to have such a generous husband. He may have been led by his sinful urges during the early part of their marriage – she had no doubt that it was Smeaton who had led him astray! – but he had seen the error of his ways and she had had no cause to complain of him for months. George was always kind to her.

She was so caught up in her pleasure at her impending motherhood that when George broached the subject of her retiring from the court until the baby was born, so that she could rest away from all risk of contagion, her only thought was to be touched that he was so concerned for her health.

* * *

Mindful of the fact that Henry hated for any physical injury to be public knowledge, knowing that it was important that the courtiers and any petitioners be able to see that their King was strong and whole, Dr Linacre had employed the thinnest silks to make a bandage, generously coating the reopened and weeping ulcer with a numbing salve before binding it tightly, taking especial care to ensure that the bandage was as flat as possible, so that it would not be visible under Henry's hose. Even so, Henry felt horribly conscious of the tight binding and of the added thickness as he walked through the Hall, convinced that every one of his courtiers could discern the bandage under his clothes and that they were whispering about it behind his back.

This suspicion did not improve his temper in the least, nor did the thought that his present suffering was the price he was paying for his ride to Wolf Hall yesterday evening, for the reason behind that ride… and for the pain he had inflicted on Anne.

Dr Linacre had given him a dose of poppy syrup for the pain but that had not been able to numb it entirely.

As he passed through the Hall, his sharp ears caught an occasional whisper from amongst the throng of courtiers, hissed speculations about whether they ought to congratulate him on the safe arrival of his son by Mistress Seymour or whether it would be better for them to hold their peace and to pretend that nothing had happened, to refrain from mentioning the baby unless he brought up the subject first. He ignored it, knowing that any reaction on his part would only serve to add fuel to the gossip and speculation.

He might be the King of England and the Supreme Head of the Church but he would never be so powerful that he was able to silence rumours altogether.

When Brandon saw him enter, he hurried towards him, bowing hastily before greeting him. "Good morning, Your Majesty." He said politely, trying to read his friend's mood and, like the rest of the courtiers, wondering if the baby's arrival should be treated as good news or bad news.

"Good morning, Charles." Henry's voice was chilly but, if he had hoped that his friend would take the hint and leave him in peace, he was disappointed.

"I heard the news," Brandon said quietly, as soon as they were alone. "I believe that Your Majesty made the right choice." He added encouragingly.

"Do you?" Henry asked calmly, but with an edge to his voice.

"Yes." Brandon nodded. When he came down from his quarters early in the morning to find the place abuzz with the news that Mistress Seymour had borne a son and that the King had acknowledged the child as his own, he felt a measure of pity for Anne, knowing that the news would have been a painful blow to her, but he felt far more relief for the baby's sake, glad to know that he was to be recognized and that he would have the upbringing he deserved as a son of the King. He was also pleased for Henry's sake, he knew his friend well enough to be certain that if he had rejected his son, it was a decision that he was sure to come to regret in time, when it was too late to do anything about it. "If the Queen is unhappy now, that is understandable," he continued, wondering if Anne had either raged at Henry over his decision to acknowledge the baby or dissolved into to a storm of tears at the news and if that was the reason for his sober mood. "But given time, I'm sure that she'll come around. Babies have a way of winning people over," he added optimistically, smiling at the thought of the two tiny babies in the Brandon nursery.

"Spoken like a proud papa." Henry remarked.

Brandon nodded, not in the least abashed. He was proud of his twins and delighted with them and he did not care who knew it. He would rather be back at home with Catherine and his children but when Henry invited him back to court, refusing that invitation had not been an option. "My wife writes that your godson is growing very quickly." He said cheerfully. "And beginning to roll over. His nursemaid thinks that Hal's going to be a handful before he's much older." Although they had begun with the intention of called the twins by their full names, that resolve had lasted only as long as it took young Edward to abbreviate their names and Lord Henry and Lady Catherine Brandon had been Hal and Cathy ever since.

Henry smiled slightly at this, cheered by the news of his godson and namesake but that smile was quickly replaced by a frown at the memory of the name given to the baby boy's twin. "And his sister… what was it you called her?" He asked pointedly, although he knew that Brandon was well aware of the fact that he knew already.

"Catherine, for her mother." Brandon answered quietly, thinking – and not for the first time – that his minor gesture of defiance when his daughter was born had been extremely unwise. He had known better than to expect that Henry would be pleased with his choice but he had not thought that he would resent it as much as he seemed to. Even if he wanted to, the twins had been christened already and there could be no question of changing baby Catherine's name now.

"Catherine, of course." Henry's displeasure was plain. "An unexpected choice, Charles."

Brandon did not dare to point out that it was far from unusual for a daughter to be named for her mother and he knew better than to try to assure his friend that the choice of a name had nothing to do with Katherine of Aragon. If he protested, Henry was likely to be more convinced that the child had been named in honour of the wife he had set aside, not less, and the last thing he wanted was for Henry to take a dislike to baby Catherine, something that could damage her future prospects.

Although it would have been a very pleasant compliment to Anne if the Brandons had named their first daughter after her, Henry could have understood it if his friend preferred to name his daughter after his own wife and been satisfied that the son bore his name… except for the fact that the babies were twins. He could not ignore the fact that through the Brandon infants, the names Henry and Catherine had been linked, like the intertwined initials of H and K that had once adorned the walls and windows of the royal palaces, carefully embroidered on everything from banners to handkerchief. The countless HKs had been chiselled away or unpicked, to be replaced with HA, just as Katherine's pomegranate had been removed to make way for Anne's falcon but the minds, memories and hearts of the people could not be altered so easily.

For far too many, the name Henry was linked more closely with Katherine than with Anne and he was far from pleased with that state of affairs, and angry with his friend for forging another link through his children.

"You have not asked after the Queen." He remarked accusingly, his thoughts of Anne reminding him of her present ill health.

Brandon was taken aback by this. He had not thought that Anne's absence meant anything; although Henry spent far more time with her these days, they were not inseparable at all hours of the day and night and Anne was rarely present when Henry came down after breakfast to begin the business of the morning. He could not say this, however.

"Is she feeling unwell this morning?" He asked. Henry nodded confirmation. "I'm sorry to hear that. How is she?" Despite his efforts to sound appropriately concerned, he had a sinking suspicion that his solicitous enquiry was not enough to satisfy Henry. He did not believe that Anne was truly suffering from anything other than pangs of jealousy and resentment over the fact that Jane Seymour had given Henry a son, along with hurt at the knowledge that he was unfaithful. Given the gossip, it was not surprising that she had feigned a convenient illness to allow her to sulk in private, with the added bonus of being able to make Henry feel guilty over the pain his decision to acknowledge the child had caused her.

Henry narrowed his eyes angrily. "I don't think you care." He stated bluntly. "You've never liked her, have you?"

First, Brandon had tried to make trouble for him by alleging that Anne had once been Thomas Wyatt's lover, though he must have known how much pain this lie would cause him; even if he trusted Anne and believed her when she told him that he had no reason to be suspicious, once the seed of doubt was planted, it preyed on his mind, leaving him unable to forget what his friend had said, unable to dismiss the possibility entirely. It had also been Brandon who directed his attention to Lady Eleanor Luke, Henry thought, conveniently forgetting that he had been gazing at the young woman before Brandon had named her and offered to speak to her on his behalf, an offer he had made more than once where other women were concerned, before Anne, and an offer that he would never have made if he did not believe that there was a good chance that Henry would consent. He was eager to placate his conscience with the assurance that but for Brandon, he would never have strayed from his wife, using Lady Eleanor to console himself after the disappointment of Elizabeth's birth.

That had marked the beginning of some of their greatest problems.

Without giving Brandon a chance to respond, he stalked away from him, resolutely ignoring the ripple of murmurs that this action caused, with courtiers wondering if the Duke of Suffolk, the King's closest friend and former brother-in-law, had fallen from favour.

Brandon watched him leave, dismayed.

"Oh dear," A smooth voice spoke up behind him and he turned to see the Duke of Norfolk standing behind him, the expression on his face reminiscent of a cat that got the cream. "It seems that you have displeased His Majesty, Your Grace. What a shame!" He noted, looking very pleased by this turn of events.

Brandon refused to rise to his baiting, inclining his head that barest fraction. "Excuse me, Your Grace."

As he walked away from Norfolk, he told himself that Henry was just in a bad temper today, under stress over both the gossip and over Anne and that he did not need to worry, that their friendship was strong enough that he had no cause to be alarmed over this incident but he couldn't quite convince himself of that. Henry was clearly displeased by the fact that his friend disliked his wife and if he continued to feel that way, then Brandon could find himself and his family at risk. He had pitted himself against Anne a long time ago. Henry knew this and, while he had not had a problem with it when his affection for and patience with Anne were at a low ebb – Brandon had even heard that Henry had reproved his wife sharply for speaking against him when he was charged with entertaining the Admiral of France, instead of immediately siding with her as he once would have – now that she had won his heart back, he took umbrage at the idea.

If Anne decided not to be gracious in victory, she could make a lot of trouble for him.

* * *

It seemed as though he could not have good news without it being accompanied by bad.

As pleased as he had been to learn that his son and daughter-in-law were to make him a grandfather again – he had made it plain to them that he expected a boy and one who was named for him, another Thomas Boleyn who would one day be the third Duke of Wiltshire – but that joy could not outweigh the dismay he felt last night when he learned of the new arrival at the Seymour household.

He had expected tears and tantrums from Anne at the news but when he looked in on her yesterday evening, as the King requested, he was relieved to see that his daughter had had the sense not to make a scene over the issue, managing to control herself for once and to remain calm and collected. Knowing that the King would not have had much patience with her if she'd flown into a rage over the matter, he was pleased to see her being so sensible.

What was done was done. Jane Seymour had had her baby and there was nothing that could be done to change that now. If Anne had railed at her husband, she would have succeeded in irritating him and might even have made him inclined to favour the bastard even more, not to mention Jane Seymour and her family.

That was the last thing they needed, especially since, despite their best efforts to ensure that it was made abundantly clear to everybody in England and Europe that baby Harry was the Prince of Wales and the rightful heir to the throne, there was still a shadow over his legitimacy, one that might never go away. If the King showed marked favour to Jane Seymour's brat, if he invested him with titles and raised him high in the ranks of the peers of the realm, then the boy might grow to be rival to the little Prince and that was something that could never be allowed.

They had worked too hard and for too long to let an illegitimate brat threaten Harry's rights as the next King of England.

In deference to the fact that he was the Queen's father, the chatter hushed as he passed through the Great Hall but his ears were keen – a gift he had cultivated during his time as an ambassador, when it was essential that he keep his ears open for any news that might be of interest or importance – and he heard snatches of whispered conversations that alarmed and angered him.

One gentleman speculated that the King would bestow the title of Duke of Richmond on the child who was currently known as Lord Edward Fitzroy, granting him the honours that had once belonged to the King's other illegitimate son, while his companion believed that the King would not wish to tempt Fate by giving his new son the titles that were so closely associated with the boy who had died as a toddler, thinking that it was be more likely that the Queen would be prevailed upon to renounce her title as Marquess of Pembroke so that it could be granted to the King's son.

Another knot of courtiers debated the likelihood of the child being sent to Hatfield and made a member of the royal nursery, to be brought up with the little prince and princess as their brother and near-equal.

Boleyn smiled slightly when he heard a small group of people speaking about Jane Seymour, voicing their amazement over the fact that the woman who had succeeded in convincing the King and the court that she was truly a virtuous maiden had been fooling them all this time and that she was truly no different than any of the other women who had set out to capture the King's interest, speculating aloud about whether she had feigned maidenly modesty in the hopes that she would be able to win Anne's throne if she held out against the King's interest long enough and about how the proud and ambitious Edward Seymour must be reacting to the fact that he was the uncle to the King's bastard, when he had hoped to be the King's brother-in-law.

Worryingly, he heard others discussing Anne's absence from the court, and the report that she had suddenly been taken ill.

"Not that you can blame her for that, poor lady," One woman remarked. While her words were sympathetic, her tone certainly was not. Boleyn had rejoiced in the difficulties and downfalls of enough of his rivals and foes to recognize satisfaction in the misfortune of another when he heard it, even if it was disguised with a show of sympathy and concern. "What woman could bear the shame of knowing that everybody is speaking of her husband's new bastard – even the late Princess Dowager did not like to speak of it when the little Duke of Richmond was born and she was never short of courage!"

"You don't think this illness is a true one?" Her companion queried.

The response was blunt. "I think that she's afraid to show her face."

Boleyn had come to the same conclusion and he stalked through the corridors towards his daughter's apartment, determined not to allow her to hide away and lick her wounds while others gossiped about her absence.

She was the Queen of England. No matter how upset or embarrassed she was by this setback, she could not allow others to whisper about it behind her back while she shut herself away from the court, leading people to believe her a coward and giving them the impression that her position had been weakened. She had to brazen it out, to show her enemies that she would never allow herself to be confounded by something like this. She had to show the King that she could hold her head high and ignore his infidelity, as she was expected to, instead of giving him cause to believe that she was weak, unable to bear the slightest setback, something that would surely make him impatient with her.

Mary did not want to allow him to enter the apartment, protesting that Anne was resting and that Dr Linacre had insisted that she needed peace and quiet, but he ignored her attempts to get him to leave, pushing past her and striding through the outer chamber to Anne's bedchamber, which was almost in darkness, lit only by log fire burning in the huge fireplace.

Anne was half-asleep and she blinked drowsily at him. "Papa?"

"It's time to get up." He instructed her, his tone brooking no argument. Since all of Anne's ladies apart from Mary had been dismissed for the morning, there was no need for him to moderate his words or his tone for their benefit, or to cover his instructions with a show of the deference due to his daughter's rank. "You need to get up, get dressed, have your ladies arrange your hair and rub some colour into your cheeks and be down in the Hall in time for dinner. You need to smile and show them that this makes no difference to you."

"Father, she's not well enough to get up yet – just look at her." Mary pointed out. Anne's face was so pale and drawn that it did not take a physician to determine that she was unwell. "Dr Linacre ordered _rest_."

"Dr Linacre doesn't understand this court as well as I do." Boleyn told her grimly. "And this is not your concern." He added sharply, frowning at his elder daughter to remind her that this time last year, she was still in exile with her ill-chosen husband and their child, forbidden to return to the court and not welcome to visit her family or to communicate with them in any way. He turned his attention to Anne, forcing himself to smile encouragingly at her. When he took her hand in his, he could feel that it was hot but not hot enough to make him rethink his instruction for her to get out of bed and rejoin the court. Even if she was feeling sick, he was sure that a couple of hours out of bed would not harm her. It was far more important for her to show a brave face and confound her enemies. "Sweetheart, I know that this is difficult for you but you have to trust me when I tell you that this is the best way to deal with this thing. People think that you are hiding away because you are afraid to face them."

Anne shrugged. "Let them." She responded simply. Right now, she couldn't bring herself to care what was being said about her, about Henry, about Jane or about the child.

"You can't think that way." Boleyn told her. Although his tone remained persuasive, he was quickly losing patience with her. Anne had been doing so well lately, winning the King's attention and regaining his love in their shared joy over little Prince Harry's safe arrival, and he had benefited personally from their re-blossoming love, knowing that he owed his new status as a duke to it. He was not prepared to stand idly by while Anne undid her previous good work by being sulky over this setback. "If you allow Mistress Seymour to get her claws into the King again, who knows what honours she will persuade him to lavish on her brat – and whatever the little bastard gains will be _your_ children's loss."

Thankfully, Anne knew that she did not need to be worried on that score. Henry was a clever man, and a man who had longed for an heir for many years. Now that they had Harry, he would never do anything to cast doubt over their son's position or his rights by building up the new baby as a rival heir. No matter what ambitions the Seymour family harboured on Edward Fitzroy's behalf, he would never be a contender for the throne. Even if there was a shadow over Elizabeth and Harry's legitimacy – and Anne was not foolish enough to delude herself into believing that there wasn't – nobody could dispute the fact that Jane Seymour's son was a bastard.

"I think you should leave, Father." Mary interjected again, more worried than she cared to admit over the fact that Anne was so lethargic, barely reacting to their father's commands, let alone arguing against them. She was not used to her sister being so quiet.

Boleyn ignored her entirely, taking Anne by the shoulders and pulling her into a sitting position, barely managing to resist the urge to slap her or to shake her until her teeth rattled, whatever it took to jolt her out of her present mood and make her see sense. "You can't afford to lie around, Anne." He told her bluntly, not mincing words. "Just because you have the King's son now doesn't mean that you can afford to become careless. You're unhappy over Mistress Seymour's son, I know, but you can't afford to indulge that feeling. You can't irritate the King and make him angry with you." His fingers dug into her shoulders as he tightened his grip on her but she didn't flinch. "Do you understand me?" He demanded angrily. "Or do you want to lose the King's love?"

"Your Grace!" Henry's voice was sharp as he spoke up from the entrance to the chamber. Knowing that Anne might be sleeping, he had arrived unaccompanied, without the usual fuss and ceremony, slipping quietly into the room to make sure that if she was asleep, he would be able to look in without disturbing her, which allowed him to overhear Boleyn's last words and to see what he was doing.

Dismayed by Henry's sudden arrival, Boleyn hastily released Anne, as though contact with her burned his hands, bowing hastily. "Your Majesty, I…"

Henry held up a hand to silence him, imperiously gesturing for him to leave the room. "You may leave us, Your Grace." He ordered firmly, not in the mood to listen to any excuses. There were none he could offer for speaking to his daughter, Henry's _wife_ like that, much less handling her roughly. He didn't want to upset Anne by shouting at Boleyn in front of her – he was her father, after all, so if he was going to speak to him about his behaviour, and he planned to, he would do it out of Anne's earshot – and he was far more concerned about what he had heard him say to her.

Was Anne truly afraid of losing his love? He had tried to show her that he loved her and that she had nothing to fear but, under the circumstances, he couldn't say that it would be surprising if she had her doubts. He had certainly given her enough reasons to worry and it would take more than a few reassurances on his part to allay those fears. Worse still, if her father was worried enough to raise the issue with her, then it was likely that there were rumours circulating throughout the court, rumours that had caused Boleyn concern, about Henry's wandering eye and the question of whether or not Anne's position was weakening.

Boleyn knew better than to argue with him, seeing from the angry glint in Henry's eyes that there was nothing he could say that would lessen his son-in-law's indignation over what he had witnessed. He bowed again, backing out of the room while he had the chance to escape. Mary followed him, leaving Henry and Anne alone.

"Sweetheart, if anybody ever speaks to you like that again, no matter who it is, I want you to tell me immediately, do you understand?" He instructed, sitting down on the side of the bed and sighing in relief as he took the weight off his leg, which had been throbbing badly.

"Is your leg hurting?" Anne asked, noticing the sigh and not wanting to discuss what her father had said to her.

Henry didn't miss her avoidance but he didn't push her on the issue. She wasn't well, after all and it could wait until she was feeling better. He didn't think that Boleyn would repeat the offence once he spoke to him, making it clear that he would never be prepared to tolerate anybody treating Anne like that. He nodded in response to her question. "It's been better but it's nothing for you to worry about. I was just in the saddle too long yesterday, I suppose, and today I'm paying the price. What about you, sweetheart? How are you feeling?" He asked her, touching her cheek lightly. She was still warm but he didn't think that she was as feverish as she had been this morning, when he was so worried about her. "Did you take the tonic that Dr Linacre left you?"

"Yes." She nodded confirmation.

"Good." He brushed her hair back from her face, smiling encouragingly. "We'll have you back on your feet again before you know it – and then maybe we could go on progress for a few weeks, not all of the court, just a few people." He suggested, thinking that a break from the court and some time spent in the country together, with only a few favoured courtiers was just the thing they needed. A few weeks away together, when they could ride out and hunt every day and enjoy nights filled with music and dancing, sounded idyllic.

"That sounds nice." Anne agreed, leaning against his arm.

"Sweetheart..." Henry began, slipping an arm around her shoulders and tugging her closer to him. The issue was an uncomfortable one for him to address but he wouldn't – he couldn't – leave ignore it, not when he knew what it was she feared. He couldn't leave her to be worried about it, not if he could put her mind at ease. "What your father was saying... you do know that you don't have to worry about that, don't you?" He asked gently, frowning slightly when she didn't respond.

He hadn't thought that it had become that bad.

He knew that Anne was hurt and jealous over his mistresses, just as he knew that the birth of baby Edward had come as a shock to her, as she had not believed that he and Jane had ever been lovers, and that it was a blow to their redeveloping relationship but it had never occurred to him that it was this serious, that it had got to the point where he could promise her that she would never have to worry about losing his love and she didn't believe him because she could no longer trust his word. He couldn't believe that he had allowed things to get so bad between them.

They had a great deal of work to do to rebuild their relationship but he was determined that he wouldn't shrink from doing whatever it was he had to do, for their own sake and the sakes of their children. Remembering how cool his own parents' relationship had been at times, he knew that it would be far better for Elizabeth and for baby Harry if they could be secure in the knowledge that their father and mother enjoyed a close, loving relationship.

The idea that, in years to come, his children might hear rumours about how their father was dallying with a mistress would have been enough to make him shrink from the idea of straying with another woman, even if he wasn't already so determined not to hurt Anne like that again.

It might be a King's right and privilege but he had never given much thought to the pain that it could cause his wife or his children to know that he was straying.

Never again.

He tightened his hold on Anne, as much to reassure himself that she was still there as to comfort her with their physical contact. She moved closer, settling into his embrace and giving him a little smile when he planted a gentle kiss on the top of her head, but she still did not say anything, didn't answer his question or assure him that she knew that she didn't need to worry. He could tell from the expression on her face that she wanted to believe his promises but the past few years had taught her to be wary and he couldn't expect her to forget those painful lessons overnight... especially when he was the one who had taught her most of them.

"It's alright, my darling," he said at last, kissing her again. "You don't believe me yet, you don't trust me – no, I understand why you don't." He hushed her with a finger to her lips before she could protest, before she could feign trust to make him feel better. "I understand and I don't blame you for it."

It was for him to prove to her that she could trust him again and he was going to do it, no matter what.

* * *

**_18th February 1537_ **

Today was her birthday.

She was nineteen.

She had been kept in this place for the past ten months and twelve days.

It looked as though she might never be allowed to leave it, not until the day when her body was carried out and borne to the churchyard for burial.

In her most melancholy moments, when her despair became almost too much for her to bear, Mary wondered if she might be allowed to be buried next to her mother, given an honourable burial as the King's daughter, even if her grave would not bear her title as Princess of England and of Wales, just as her mother was robbed of the rites due to a Queen and buried as the Princess Dowager of Wales, forced in death to accept the title she had so staunchly refused to accept in life, or if she would be given a hasty burial in the nearest churchyard, laid to rest in an unmarked grave. She wondered if her father would grieve for the death of his daughter or if he would rejoice, knowing that her death would make the throne safer for his son by the harlot.

She had hoped that her father would send her a message or a token today, some birthday remembrance, some sign that he still loved and cared for her but he had not.

The only messages she had received since she came to this place were from Master Cromwell, who had written to her only twice. The first letter had set out the conditions she was expected to adhere to during her time at the More and to let her know that, should she require anything, she should let Sir William know and that he would communicate her request to him. The second letter was worse by far; Cromwell wanted her to take the Oath of Succession.

It was unbelievable!

Even now, when she was shut away in the More, when she had been declared a bastard by her own father, denied her rights as his legitimate daughter and heir by Act of Parliament, with her rightful titles bestowed on her father's illegitimate children by Anne, they still plagued her to sign their vile Oath!

Had they not done enough to her already? Now they wanted her to declare herself a bastard, to pretend that her parents' marriage truly had been unlawful and incestuous. After everything her mother had done to ensure that her rights as the King's only legitimate child and rightful heir were protected, they expected her to sign those rights away.

In her weaker moments, she was sorely tempted.

Although Master Cromwell did not say so directly in his letter, Mary got the distinct impression that if she was prepared to yield to her father's wishes, accept his decision regarding her legitimacy and take the Oath, she would be able to improve her lot considerably. It made sense that her father would soften towards her if she gave in; if she signed the Oath, he would see it as confirmation of her loyalty and, although he believed that she had attempted to poison Anne and was keeping her at the More both as a punishment for this and to ensure that she could not be party to another plot against her, if she took the Oath, if she signed away her birthright and her rightful place in the line of succession, then she would no longer be seen as a threat to Anne, to little Elizabeth or to baby Henry as their deaths would bring her no closer to the throne.

Even if she was not invited back to court, there was a very real chance that she might be allowed to leave the More and to take up residence in another manor, a more pleasant one, in a less remote area, where she would be attended by people who were her servants and not her jailers and where she would be free to receive and send messages and where she could entertain visitors.

The idea was a tempting one, especially after all this time cooped up here. They did not even allow her to ride out, for fear that she might try to slip away from her keepers. The only exercise she was allowed was walking in the grounds of the estate, under the eagle eyes of Lady Margaret.

She knew her father well enough to know that he would be prepared to be kind to her if she yielded.

He would always be generous to those who pleased him.

Mary did not doubt that if her mother had given in to him, he would have made sure that she was amply provided for, given all the comforts she had enjoyed as Queen, even if she was styled as the Princess Dowager of Wales. He would have given her everything she could have asked for and even welcomed her to court as his dearest sister but her mother had refused to yield to the temptation, to imperil her immortal soul for the sake of her physical comfort.

She had not yielded even when Lord Wiltshire had threatened that she would be executed if she continued to defy her husband.

Her mother had stood by what she knew to be the truth, no matter how tempting the offers she was made in exchange for her cooperation were and no matter how many terrible penalties she was threatened with.

Mary would not do anything less.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**_6th April 1537_ **

It had been a full decade since a visiting monarch had last been entertained at the English court.

Ten years ago, the Holy Roman Emperor had come to visit his aunt and the man who, in those days, still thought himself to be her husband, signing a treaty of perpetual friendship between England and Spain and formalizing a betrothal between the Emperor and the then Princess Mary. Today, Katherine was dead and the former princess was now known as Lady Mary and banished from the court while Anne was Queen now, preparing to receive the King of France, to whose son her daughter, the Princess Elizabeth, was to be betrothed.

The preparations for the visit had begun while the King and Queen were away, with the hundreds of servants employed within the palace cleaning Whitehall from top to bottom, while the kitchen staff laid in provisions to ensure that the court would feast sumptuously at every meal and that they would be equipped to feed the many extra mouths of King Francis' retinue. A special, highly skilled team of confectioners were hard at work, ensuring that the subtleties that would be created for each night of the French King's visit would be finer than anything ever seen before, crafting fantastic sugar sculptures that looked too pretty to be touched, much less eaten. The suite of rooms that had been occupied by the Emperor a decade ago had been aired and redecorated, with new furnishings and hangings and with every effort made to ensure the comfort of the exalted guest.

When King Francis came, he would have no grounds to complain about the English hospitality.

At Henry's insistence, he and Anne had left Whitehall to go on progress as soon as she recovered from her indisposition and was ready to travel, by which time the pain in his leg had subsided and he felt fit to ride. Accompanied only by their respective attendants and by favoured courtiers, they travelled between royal manors before settling in Grafton House in the Midlands, one of Henry's favourite retreats, where they spent a happy month together, riding out daily and enjoying hunts and picnics and, more often than not, forgoing formal dinners with their reduced court in favour of dining privately in their own rooms.

They had certainly needed the time together, Anne reflected as she relaxed in her chair, sitting still while Nan Saville brushed her hair. After everything that had happened to them over the past couple of years, it was such a relief to be able to get away together, leaving Whitehall Palace behind. As King, Henry could not wash his hands of the affairs of state altogether, of course, but once he divided the Privy Council in two; leaving one group behind at Whitehall while the others accompanied them to Grafton House, communicating with the former group through messengers, he was able to fulfil his responsibilities as King in the mornings, leaving his afternoons and evenings free to spend time with his wife. Their weeks together had been wonderful, as it had been years ago, before their marriage when they first began to go on progresses together, with Katherine either staying behind at Whitehall or travelling to Ludlow Castle to see her daughter.

In some ways, things had seemed so much simpler in those days.

It had not always been easy, far from it; even though they had people like Wolsey, Anne's father and uncle and later Cromwell and Cranmer working for their cause, there had still been times when it had felt as though the two of them were alone, standing against countless enemies who were determined to see to it that they would not be allowed to be together but at least in those days, when they made their stand, they made it together, determined to make sure that, no matter who tried to stand in their way, they would prevail.

Now, in a way, they were once again standing together in battle, not against the pope or the Emperor or Katherine this time, but against the past. If they wanted to exorcize the pain of the past few years, if they wanted to be able to begin again and to put it all behind them, it was something that they would have to do together.

At Grafton House, there had been times when Anne was able to forget about the Lady Mary, the girl who had called for her death and Harry's and who was now shut away at the More where she could do no further damage, about the women who had been her husband's mistresses and who had threatened to come between them, and even about baby Edward Fitzroy in his nursery at Wolf Hall.

They might never have existed.

Her only regret about being away was that Grafton was too far away from Hatfield to allow her and Henry to make the journey to visit their children. It had been almost two months since her last visit and she was longing to see them both but at least she was going to have Elizabeth with her now, although Harry was to remain behind at Hatfield. As part of the reason for King Francis' visit was to formalize a betrothal between Elizabeth and his youngest surviving son, the Duke of Orleans and as Elizabeth, at three and a half, could now be trusted to behave herself appropriately when she was presented to her future father-in-law, she had been sent for to come to court for the occasion, something Anne was thrilled about.

All of her ladies were well aware of how happy she was about her daughter's impending visit and Madge Shelton's step was light and her smile was broad as she entered the apartment, curtseying deeply before hurrying to her cousin's side, bending down to whisper something she knew that she was longing to hear.

Anne smiled, nodding at once in response to Madge's other question, waving a hand to indicate that Nan could leave her hair alone for the moment. She doubted her ability to sit still, not now, not when she knew that Elizabeth was in the palace and that she would be in her arms at any moment now.

She felt so impatient that it seemed to take a long time before she heard the cries to make way for the Princess Elizabeth and she stood, not waiting to hear the knock before motioning to Madge to open the door, admitting Elizabeth and a woman in her thirties, both of whom curtsied as soon as they crossed the threshold of the room and then the woman released her hold on Elizabeth's hand, smiling indulgently as her little charge ran towards her mother, holding out her arms to be lifted up.

"Mama!" Elizabeth flung her arms around her mother's neck, hugging her tightly and planting several smacking kisses on her cheek. She giggled as Anne twirled with her in her arms.

"Hello, my sweetheart." Anne settled Elizabeth comfortably on her hip, hugging her tightly. "How are you? Have you been a good girl?"

"Yes." Elizabeth nodded solemnly. "Kat said so."

"Kat?"

"Kat." Elizabeth confirmed, indicating the woman by the door.

"I am Catherine Champernowne, Your Majesty, the Princess' governess." The woman elaborated, curtseying a second time. "I asked Her Highness to call me Kat, as Mistress Champernowne is so formal, and rather difficult to pronounce, at least for a child." She explained, giving Anne an apologetic half-smile, as though realizing that it might be deemed inappropriate for her to encourage Elizabeth to be so informal with her.

Much to her relief, Anne returned her smile, not in the least put out by the use of a nickname. "How are you settling in at Hatfield, Mistress Kat," she asked, using the nickname herself to reassure the other woman that she had no objection to it. She had not visited Hatfield since the governess was appointed to care for Elizabeth but Lady Bryan had already sent her a good report, assuring her that the newest addition to the royal children's household was proving to be satisfactory. Elizabeth was clearly fond of her.

"Very well, Your Majesty, thank you." Kat assured her, smiling at her little charge. "Princess Elizabeth is the brightest child I have ever encountered, with a keen mind and a great interest in her studies." In any other child of Elizabeth's age, this would have been an exaggeration, to say the least, but with Elizabeth, it was no more than the truth. "She is intelligent beyond her years and a delight to teach."

"Kat's lessons are _fun_." Elizabeth pronounced cheerfully. "She knows much more than Lady Bryan and she's teaching me a lot. She taught me what to say when I meet the King of France – listen." Her brow furrowed in concentration as she repeated the greeting her governess had taught her, her French word-perfect and her accent almost flawless. "Did I get that right?" She asked eagerly as soon as she was finished.

"Yes, darling – you're so clever!" Anne praised, kissing Elizabeth again. Her daughter was becoming heavy in her arms but she did not want to let her go, not yet, so she returned to her chair, holding Elizabeth in her lap. "Do you know why your Papa and I want you to meet King Francis?" She asked gently, glancing up at Kat, who nodded confirmation. Lady Bryan had been sent a message, instructing her to see to it that Elizabeth was made ready for a visit to Whitehall and apprising her of the reasons for this visit, and she had relayed this information to Kat so that she could explain the matter to her charge.

"I'm going to marry his son."

"That's right," Anne kissed the top of Elizabeth's head, finding it difficult to believe that the little child in her arms would one day be a bride. "Papa and King Francis have arranged that you will marry the Duke of Orleans, King Francis' younger son."

"Not the Dauphin?" Elizabeth asked. Kat had taught her that the Dauphin was what the French called the heir to their throne, just as Harry was called the Prince of Wales to let people know that he was to be their next King.

"No, darling, the Dauphin is married already, and he's much older than you are." Although the latter point was not necessarily an impediment to marriage, particularly where royal unions were concerned – nor was the former point, for that matter, given that the Dauphine, Catherine de Medici, was in a weakened position as the pope refused to pay the huge dowry his predecessor, Catherine's kinsman, had promised when the marriage was first arranged and since there had been no sign of a child in three and a half years of marriage; it was rumoured that the possibility of a divorce was being discussed by King Francis and his advisors, many of whom favoured ending a marriage they deemed to have been a bad bargain for the House of Valois – Elizabeth was satisfied with that explanation.

Anne decided against elaborating further, explaining that until less than a year ago, when King Francis' eldest son died, the present Dauphin was the Duke of Orleans while Elizabeth's betrothed was the Duke of Angouleme, a step further away from the throne than he was now. Elizabeth was very intelligent for a child of her age, and it was very likely that she would be well able to grasp the concept that if the Dauphin died childless, as his older brother had, the Duke of Orleans would become the next Dauphin, heir apparent to the throne, and she might, in time, become Queen of France instead of just the Duchess of Orleans but she was still so young, not yet four, that she could not be expected to be discreet about what she heard and they certainly did not need her to suggest such a possibility around King Francis or the members of his entourage… even if it was a thought that had crossed Henry's mind more than once since the betrothal was arranged, and a prospect that he found far from unappealing.

Although the English holdings in France had dwindled to Calais only, Henry still persisted in calling himself the King of France, as his predecessors had. He recognized the importance of a French alliance and had given up on the idea of sending an army to conquer France and seize the throne from King Francis – at least for the present – but the idea of his grandson sitting on the French throne certainly appealed to him.

"When will I see King Francis?"

"Tomorrow. He is to arrive in the morning and you will be presented to him at dinner." Anne explained.

"Will I have a new gown?" Elizabeth asked, getting to the most important part of the issue, at least as far as she was concerned. "And jewels?" Even though she was a princess and had some pieces of jewellery already, she was only allowed to wear them on very special occasions and even then, they were much smaller and plainer than the jewels her Mama wore and Lady Bryan said that those were the kind of jewels that children should wear. Surely now that she was a big girl, old enough to be presented to the King of France and to be betrothed, she should wear much finer jewels.

Anne suppressed a smile, amused by her daughter's passionate interest in clothes and jewels, a passion that she seemed to have possessed from the cradle and one that she had certainly inherited from her mother. "Your new gown is ready and waiting for you – you can see it tomorrow, it's a surprise." She added, before Elizabeth could clamour to see it and try it on. "As for jewels…" She paused thoughtfully, thinking over the subject and smiling slightly when she thought of the perfect piece for Elizabeth to wear tomorrow, in addition to the coronet Henry had had made for her. "I think I know what you can wear."

* * *

When her sister-in-law had first come to her with news of George's transformation, thanking her profusely for having helped him to see the error of his ways and for encouraging him to return to his wife, Mary had known better than to take this transformation at face value. George may have realized that it would be better by far for him if Jane _believed_ that he had ended his relationship with Mark Smeaton but that did not necessarily mean that he had actually ended it.

However, despite her doubts, she had held her peace, far from convinced about George's turnaround, especially since his behaviour towards Jane was far more cordial and affectionate than she would ever have expected, but not wanting to cause an upset by revisiting the issue, especially when Anne had been having such a difficult time lately, after the shock of learning that Mistress Seymour had made the King the father of a bastard son and now the bustle of preparations for King Francis' visit. The last thing she needed was to have another problem added to her burden, especially when her closeness with George would put her in such a difficult position, wanting to support and protect her older brother but not being able to do so for fear of being tainted by the inevitable scandal when the truth came out, as it was all but guaranteed to.

As well as that, their father's reaction to the news was bound to be an unpleasant one, whether he chose to believe Mary and lashed out at George for daring to put the family reputation at risk with his behaviour, or whether he professed to believe George's inevitable declaration of innocence, venting his spleen on Mary for making up such a foul lie about her own brother and creating a scandal that would disgrace their family. Either way, it would cause deep divisions within the family, and Mary did not want to see that happen.

For the time being, they were safe, as long as Jane continued to believe that the affair was over and that it would never be repeated but Mary had still worried, knowing that George was not a man who was likely to suppress his own desires in the long term. She hoped that it would work out but, even so, she was waiting for Jane to come to her again, distressed by the fact that George had resumed his old lifestyle but that day had not come. George appeared to be one of the most faithful, devoted husbands at court… but it was only an outward show. Mary realized this, to her great dismay, when Jane first came to her to announce her pregnancy, before she had even let Anne or their father know, wanting Mary to be the first person, with the exception of George and the midwife, to hear the good news.

As soon as she heard Jane enthuse about how kind and thoughtful George was to her, insisting that she retire from the court for the sake of her health and that of their unborn child, Mary knew exactly why he had been willing to return to Jane's bed and what he was going to do now that his wife was safely out of the way, living in the country for the duration of her pregnancy at least, giving him long months of freedom from her company, long months of freedom during which he would be able to pursue his affair with Mark, unhindered by Jane's presence.

She was a fool not to have anticipated this!

She knew George, knew him better than Anne did, as she was closer in age to him than they were to their younger sister, and she should have realized that he would not calmly and cheerfully return to the marriage bed he despised, not unless he had something to gain from it. Even the prospect of a son and heir would not be inducement enough, not for George, despite the pressure their father was placing on him to supply him with a grandson to carry the Boleyn name and titles. Unlike their father, George's interest in advancing was restricted to his own generation. He was delighted to accept any titles or land grants or stewardships that the King bestowed on him but he did not worry about what would happen to the wealth he accumulated in the next generation. He had little interest in what would happen after he was dead and Mary suspected that he would have been content to see the family titles and estates pass to a son of hers and Will's, assuming that they ever had one, or even to baby Harry, merging them with the Crown, instead of insisting that he should have a son of his own should inherit them.

For George, a child represented freedom from Jane, at least temporarily.

Had he been intriguing with a mistress, she would have held her peace, reasoning that if Jane was unaware of the affair, she would not be hurt by it but under the circumstances, she could not do so. George was playing a very dangerous game and she knew her brother well enough to know that, in his exhilaration over his newfound freedom, he would be more reckless than ever, taking chances that he never would have taken before and not taking the trouble to be discreet about his relationship with Mark, for both their sakes.

If she did not do something, they were bound to be caught, sooner or later.

George would be ruined and might even pay for his relationship with his life. Mark certainly would.

It had to end.

Talking to George would do no good, she had already tried it and to no avail. Speaking to their father was a last resort, as she could not be sure how he would react. Even if she could speak to Mark and try to persuade him to abandon the relationship, George would not be prepared to simply let him go without a fight. Mark was a court musician under Anne's patronage and she, not to mention the King, would certainly ask questions if he suddenly decided that he wished to leave, especially when he enjoyed such a privileged position at court, one that most musicians in England would strive for and that he was unlikely to find a better situation if he chose to go elsewhere.

Choosing to intervene was not a decision that she made easily. George might be reckless but he was far from stupid and even if she opted for an indirect method of separating Mark from him, he would be able to guess that she was behind it and resent her for her interference. Her relationship with her brother might be harmed, perhaps irreparably but she could live with that if it meant saving him from the ruin, disgrace and worse consequences that would inevitably follow if the relationship was allowed to continue.

She did not like the idea of using Anne as an unwitting accomplice to her plans but if the alternative was telling her sister, she felt that it would be kinder to leave her in ignorance of her true motives rather than putting her in a position where she would have to choose between her siblings. With the exception of the King, Anne was the one person able to send Mark away and Mary needed to persuade her to do it, without rousing her suspicion about her motives for suggesting it.

Her sister and her niece were playing together when she reached Anne's apartment, with Anne's ladies and Elizabeth's governess dismissed to allow mother and daughter to spend some time alone together, something they did not often have the chance to do. Anne was sitting in front of the virginals, balancing Elizabeth on her lap while she played a short sequence of notes before moving her hands away from the keyboard to allow Elizabeth to try, beaming as her daughter mimicked her movements without missing a note.

"Very good, sweetheart." Anne hugged Elizabeth around the waist when she finished playing. "You got it perfectly." Hearing Mary enter, she looked up at her with a smile. "I think that somebody is going to be a very talented musician one day, don't you, sister?"

Mary was not a superstitious person, by any means, but if she had been, she would have thought that this was a sign from somebody who wanted to guide her, helping her to find a solution to her problem.

"I suppose you'll be arranging for music lessons soon," she said, doing her best to keep her tone casual, as though she had no more interest in the subject than any aunt would have in the education of her little niece. "With a proper music master, I mean, not just with Lady Bryan or…" She combed her mind, trying to remember the name of Elizabeth's new governess.

"Kat." Elizabeth supplied cheerfully.

"She's very young…" Anne began doubtfully, but Elizabeth took umbrage at this.

"I'm a big girl." She said, frowning reprovingly at her mother. "I'm going to be four soon. That's very old. Almost grown up. Big enough for music."

"She's got a point, Anne." Mary said, inwardly blessing little Elizabeth. With her niece on her side, the battle was half won. Now that Elizabeth was all but guaranteed to associate 'proper' music lessons with being a big girl, it was unlikely that she would be willing to be satisfied with anything else and if Elizabeth wanted it, Anne was bound to arrange it. She and the King both adored their daughter, allowing her to have whatever she wanted, within reason, and there was nothing unreasonable about music lessons, especially for a child as clever as Elizabeth. "She's very precocious – just like you when you were her age – and I think that you should encourage her."

Anne nodded, smiling at Elizabeth. "Would you like that, my precious?" Elizabeth nodded enthusiastically. "Then I'll write to Lady Bryan and tell her and Mistress Kat to find somebody suitable and you can start as soon as they pick your new teacher."

"Why ask them?" Mary interjected immediately, not wanting the opportunity to slip through her fingers. "There are so many wonderful musicians at court – like Master Smeaton."

"Mark?" Anne raised a surprised eyebrow. She had not expected her sister to name Mark Smeaton, of all people. He was one of the best musicians they had at court, if not the best, and she hadn't thought of sending him to Hatfield to tutor Elizabeth instead of keeping him at court.

"I think that he would be ideal," Mary pressed, trying not to sound too eager. "He's a wonderful musician and he taught before he came to court – and if you're choosing somebody to join the children's household, you'll need to make sure that it's somebody you can trust… just in case" She added, feeling a stab of guilt when she saw Anne's slight flinch at the words, knowing that she had taken her meaning, and saw her involuntarily tightening her grip on Elizabeth. Playing on her sister's fears that somebody might harm one of her precious children was not something she was proud of, and not something that she would have done under other circumstances but she could at least be certain that Anne was going to select Mark now, and that even if George tried to persuade her to choose another candidate, she would be stubborn about her choice.

Anne wasn't going to choose a stranger over Mark, somebody she knew and trusted.

Mary didn't like to think what George's reaction was going to be when he found out but, regardless of how angry he was with her for her interference, there would be nothing that he could do about it.

* * *

**_7th April 1537_ **

Henry was to be the first member of the English royal family to greet King Francis and then, while their ambassadors and advisors had finalized the details of the treaty, Henry would show Francis his ships, of which he was extremely proud, and the two men would spend a couple of hours conversing together – hopefully amiably – before dinner, when Anne and Elizabeth were to be formally presented to him.

Considering that their visitor was coming from the most fashionable, sophisticated court in Europe, Anne had seen to it that she, her daughter and the ladies who would be accompanying them to the feast were all dressed stylishly. She personally vetted each design for a gown and headpiece, each accessory, ensuring that the colours and styles her ladies wore would compliment her own outfit but without any risk of them overshadowing her.

Madge Shelton was carefully laying out the gown Anne had chosen for this first evening, a gown of deep sapphire blue, embroidered in silver thread with diamonds scattered throughout the embroidery, to compliment the diamond and sapphire tiara and matching choker she was to wear with it.

Anne sat in front of her mirror, in her shift and petticoats, while Nan brushed her hair, gently twirling it into loose curls. As she was wearing a tiara today, she would wear her hair down, with only the locks at the front pulled back and secured with a clasp to keep them out of her eyes.

Elizabeth was already dressed, also in sapphire silk, although her gown was of a lighter shade and simpler design than that of her mother's. Her fair hair had been combed and secured by a slender silver coronet studded with sapphires, something Elizabeth was thrilled about and had spent a great deal of time admiring since her ladies had first helped her into it. She hurried over to her Mama's side, hugging her tightly, much to the dismay of several of the ladies-in-waiting in attendance, who were afraid that she might crumple her mother's petticoats or muss her hair.

"Thank you for my crown." She said, beaming up at her mother. "It's a very nice jewel."

"Yes it is, but I have another surprise for you." Anne smiled at her, waiting for Nan to finish with her hair before indicating that she should bring one of the small, carved jewel chests over to her. This chest was smaller than the casket she had inherited from Katherine, the one containing the official jewels of the Queens of England, the one that Henry had insisted that Katherine relinquish to him before their trip to France more than four years ago, wanting Anne to be able to wear them when she was formally presented to King Francis, as befitted the future Queen of England, and the pieces it contained were not as valuable as those in her main collection… at least not in monetary terms.

She rarely wore any of the pieces contained in this chest these days, most of them belonged to an earlier time in her life, when simpler, plainer adornments were more appropriate to her status, but she would never have dreamed of parting with them, they were far too precious to her for that. The ring her father had given her when she first set out for the court of the Archduchess Margaret, too big for her when she first received it but now too tight for any finger but her smallest one. A few bracelets and necklaces that had once belonged to her mother and grandmother. The pendant with a gold 'B' that was almost her trademark during her time at the French court. She rummaged through the chest until she found the piece she was looking for, one that stood out from the others as it was plainly more expensive and ornate but that nevertheless seemed to belong in this chest.

Elizabeth's eyes were wide with awe as she fingered the heavy necklace her mother fastened around her neck. "It's beautiful!" She said softly.

"You can borrow it for today," Anne told her, standing Elizabeth in front of her so that they could both survey the effect in the mirror. "Your Papa gave it to me a long time ago, before you were born." She said, more to herself than to Elizabeth. It wasn't Henry's first gift, or even the first gift she had accepted from him; the jewelled cross and the brooches she had initially returned but accepted a few months later, when Henry sent them to her again were also carefully stowed in other jewel chests but this one was special. Instead of being sent to her in private, delivered by a messenger who was under strict orders to wait until she was alone before handing the gift to her, Henry pressed this necklace into her hand himself, before the eyes of the court, beseeching her to accept it as a token of his affection.

Moments before, when Katherine was announced and Anne tried to withdraw, Henry had held her hand tightly, refusing to allow her to slip away and, for the first time, it was Katherine who had to withdraw, quitting the field and leaving her rival the victor of that day's battle.

Henry had made his choice and he made it in front of what seemed like half the court, his actions prompting murmurings once he departed.

It was the moment when their love was made public, no longer something to be hidden away. They weren't ashamed of it and wouldn't hide.

She liked the idea of Elizabeth wearing the necklace for her betrothal ceremony.

"Thank you, Mama." Elizabeth told her, turning around and stretching to her full height to kiss Anne's cheek in thanks.

"You're welcome." Anne returned the kiss before standing to allow her ladies to help her into her gown, breathing deeply as they drew the laces tight, flattening her stomach and narrowing her waist. She was very thankful that she had quickly regained her old slimness after Harry was born. Some women never regained their former looks after the birth of a child but Anne's figure and appearance were almost completely unchanged, despite three pregnancies and the births of two living children.

Elizabeth watched her dressing, an admiring expression on her face. Her Mama was the most beautiful person in the world. She hoped that she would be as pretty when she was a grown lady.

"Mama?" Her voice was soft as she spoke.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Do you know King Francis?"

"I do; your Aunt Mary and I used to live at his court when we were girls, and we were ladies-in-waiting to his wife, Queen Claude, when we were older. My Papa was the ambassador."

"Is he a nice man?" She tried to sound brave but she was too young to hide her apprehension and Anne immediately hastened to reassure her.

"He's going to be very nice to you, sweetheart, and I'm sure that he will love you very much." She assured her, confident that this was true.

King Francis was a charming man, one who was always able to endear himself to members of the opposite sex, regardless of their age. Anne was too young to interest him when she first arrived at his court, initially assigned to the royal nursery and schoolroom as a companion to Princess Renée before she was promoted to the role of _fille d'honneur_ , a maid of honour, when she was old enough but she, like the other young girls living with Princess Renée, had been delighted by the courtesy and charm with which the King treated them, complimenting them gravely and being indulgent with the children of his court on the rare occasions when he encountered them. It wasn't until she was older, when she realized that the French King was her sister's lover and saw how brief the affair was and how discourteously he spoke of Mary, that her adoration faded. By the time she was old enough to attract the attention of King Francis, or any of the gentlemen of his court, she knew how to handle their attention, exchanging light flirtations but never allowing it to go any further, a lesson that every lady in the French court needed to learn but that some failed to grasp.

Nevertheless, she was confident that King Francis would be kind to Elizabeth once she became his daughter-in-law. For all his debauchery, he would never dream of flirting with his son's wife; he would treat her with consideration, respect and courtesy.

"Will I have to go away to France?"

"Not for a long time, the wedding won't take place until you're twelve." Anne told her, knowing that it would be very unusual if the wedding took place exactly when they intended it to. By the time Elizabeth was twelve, it was likely that either Francis or Henry would want to reopen negotiations regarding Elizabeth's dowry, her household and income during her marriage, among other details. There was an excellent chance that the marriage would be delayed for at least a couple of years as the two Kings haggled, especially if Elizabeth was slow to mature and they needed to wait longer before she could become a wife in truth as well as in name. "And you'll have lands here, and be able to stay in England at least part of the time."

Including English estates as part of Elizabeth's promised dowry had been an unusual move on Henry's part but not nearly as unusual as his announcement that his future son-in-law was to be awarded the title of Duke of Clarence when the marriage took place, and that he would be given the same honours due to a Prince of England.

This was partly a political decision; Henry was well aware of how important it was that King Francis should accept Elizabeth as a bride for his son, indicating her legitimacy and Harry's, so in addition to promising a dowry that was larger by far than the one that was intended to accompany Mary to France when she went to be the bride of the Dauphin, as was once intended, he added English honours to make the marriage a more tempting prospect, but Anne thought that he was also motivated by a desire to ensure that they would not lose their daughter's company altogether. If they owned estates and held titles in England as well as in France, then it was likely that Elizabeth and the Duke of Orleans would divide their time between the two countries, which would mean that Anne and Henry would be able to see more of their daughter after her marriage than most royals were able to.

Elizabeth nodded comprehension, feeling relieved. It was going to be a long time before she was twelve, more than twice as long as she had lived already, so for her, her marriage might as well be a century away.

Anne stood still, allowing her ladies to make the finishing touches to her coiffure and her jewellery, waiting until they had straightened the hem of her gown before she extended a hand to take Elizabeth's, leading her through the maze of corridors between her suite of rooms and the Great Hall, with her ladies-in-waiting, together with Kat, following in procession.

She was not worried about the prospect of arriving there late, after Henry and King Francis had already entered. She and Henry had already arranged that when she and Elizabeth were in the Hall, ready to receive the French King, a messenger would go to him to let him know that they were ready and that it was safe for him and for Francis to join them.

She spotted her father standing among the waiting noblemen, standing towards the front, as befitted a duke, and he inclined his head slightly when he met her eyes, giving her an encouraging smile. She hadn't needed to be told that her father had wound up on the receiving end of a sharp reprimand from her husband, who had been far from pleased by the scene he had witnessed. Her father had come to her rooms to apologize for his behaviour the next morning, in the hopes that by doing so he would be able to soften Henry's anger towards him but, while Henry had promised not to take measures against her father when Anne asked him to let the matter rest, all concerned knew that he had not forgotten what he had seen. He had been cool towards her father for weeks afterwards and still watched him with a wary eye, wanting to make sure that the offence would not be repeated.

Anne was sure that it would not be. Now that he had been caught once, he was careful to treat her gently and respectfully, knowing that a second offence would not be forgiven.

She returned her father's smile before looking down at her own child, squeezing her hand gently.

Unlike most children of her age, Elizabeth did not fidget or stare around the Hall, gaping at the richly dressed courtiers or at the ceremony that was partly in her honour. She had been too carefully rehearsed by her governess for that and she stood up straight at Anne's side, holding her hand and looking straight ahead, waiting for her Papa and for King Francis to arrive.

She did not have to wait long.

After a fanfare of trumpets, a herald announced the arrivals of the King of England and Ireland – Henry had diplomatically declined to claim the title of King of France for the duration of the visit, much to everybody's relief – and the King of France and the two men entered a moment later, walking side by side, both of them clearly in excellent spirits.

Once he reached Anne's side, Henry took her free hand in his, drawing her forward a couple of paces to make the formal introductions.

"My wife, Queen Anne." He announced proudly, delighted to be able to introduce her thus in front of a fellow monarch, knowing that her title would not be denied.

King Francis inclined his head, a warm smile on his face as Henry guided Anne's hand towards his. He took her hand, kissing it lightly before they exchanged the ceremonious kiss on either cheek. "It is my very great honour and pleasure, madame." He told her kindly, meaning what he said. While he had not hesitated to deny that she was truly Henry's wife and the Queen of England before, when it suited him to do so and while he would not hesitate to do so in the future, should it be in his best interests, politics and diplomacy aside, he was pleased to see the young woman who had been one of the adornments of his own court risen so high and hoped that she would continue to be happy and secure in her position. It also tickled his vanity to think that it had been a girl who had been educated in his own court who had managed to captivate the King of England so completely; it was certainly proof that the French court was the finest in the world, turning out the most beautiful, charming and polished young ladies in Europe. He winked at her. "My brother is a very fortunate man."

"I certainly am." Henry agreed, beaming proudly at Anne before laying a gentle hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. "And allow me to present our beloved daughter, the Princess Elizabeth."

Elizabeth curtsied gracefully, greeting him in her careful French and extending her tiny hand to him, smiling when he kissed it, just as he had her mother's.

"Enchanting!" Francis exclaimed, kneeling down to kiss the little girl on both cheeks, and then holding her at arm's length to survey her face. "My son is a very, very lucky boy, Your Highness, to be betrothed to such a beautiful lady!"

Although Elizabeth's voice was grave as she thanked him formally for his compliments, she could not hide the sparkle in her eyes at his words of praise and King Francis was charmed.

When he rose to take Anne's arm to lead her in to dine, while Henry escorted Elizabeth, he praised the little girl. "You have a most lovely and charming daughter, madame." He told her, moving towards the table on the dais. "She will be as beautiful as her mother one day, I am certain of it – and as clever too, if I am not greatly mistaken."

Anne smiled her thanks for the compliment, allowing Francis to seat her.

Four high, carved chairs were placed behind the table on the dais, which was to be reserved for the two Kings, the Queen and the Princess and even those high-ranking nobles who would normally have had the privilege of being allowed to sit at the top table were relegated to places at the ordinary table. Henry and Francis sat on the two middle chairs, with Anne next to Henry and Elizabeth next to Francis.

At a signal from Henry's chamberlain, liveried servers began to carry the laden platters into the Hall and the feast began.

* * *

**_12th April 1537_ **

King Francis' visit had passed without any problems, quarrels or disagreements. The entertainments staged for him had proceeded without the slightest mistake, he rode out with Henry on a daily basis, sometimes accompanied by Anne, with no mishap marring their rides and throughout his time at their court, he and Henry continued to get along amicably, each professing his deep respect and sincere friendship for the other man.

Cromwell may have favoured an Imperial alliance rather than a French one but that did not keep him from ensuring that the agreement for an Anglo-French alliance, with the two Kings confirming their lasting friendship and each vowing to go to war in support of the other, should the Emperor attack him or his interests, or those of his heirs – valuable insurance for England, should the Emperor choose, at some point in the future, to rededicate himself to supporting the interests of his cousin and seek to invade England and put the Lady Mary on the throne.

As part of the treaty, the Duke of Orleans and the Princess Elizabeth were formally pledged, with the marriage due to take place when the bride to be reached the age of twelve.

Cromwell had personally scrutinized each detail of the betrothal agreement, satisfied that it was binding. Like everybody else present for the occasion when the two Kings signed the treaty and the betrothal agreement, setting their seals on the documents, an act that would be witnessed by Archbishop Cranmer and Bishop Bonnivet, who would set their own signatures and seals as witnesses, he was well aware of the significance of the betrothal.

Princess Elizabeth would be the Duchess of Orleans in time – indeed, she could begin using that title by courtesy now, if her father wished her to, anticipating her future as the bride of a French prince – but, more importantly, it mean that King Francis, not to mention one of the French bishops, had confirmed the little princess' legitimacy by accepting her as a suitable bride for the Duke of Orleans, and they had done it in writing, which made it far more difficult for them to retract their pledge than a simple verbal agreement would have. Even if they decided against proceeding with the marriage at a later date, a possibility given that the prospective groom was over a decade his future bride's senior and that he might be put under pressure to marry and father an heir before Elizabeth was old enough to be a wife, especially if the Dauphin's marriage continued to be barren but the fact that the betrothal had been agreed to in the first place was confirmation of the fact that the King of France had accepted the princess as legitimate and, by extension, that the marriage of the King and Queen of England was a valid one.

The treaty had been a victory for the two Kings, together with all of those who supported an Anglo-French alliance but the betrothal, together with the fact that King Francis had acknowledged her as Queen of England, in person, was Anne's victory, a fact that she seemed to be well aware of, if her beaming smile while the agreements were signed was any indication.

With the formalities concluded, the two Kings embraced before Francis turned his attention to Anne, kissing her cheek, and then patting little Elizabeth on the head, assuring her that the Duke of Orleans would be thrilled when he was told about his future bride and that all of France would be counting the years until the lovely English princess could travel to their court.

The courtiers watching applauded as the agreements were signed, murmuring approval when King Francis bent down to gallantly offer his arm to Elizabeth to escort her out but there was one man watching who was far from pleased, despite the fact that as a member of the Boleyn family, he should have been happy to know that his niece would marry royally and that his sister's status had been confirmed.

Knowing better than to create a scene, George held his tongue throughout the ceremony but he sidled closer to Mary, reaching out to catch her by the sleeve as the courtiers began to follow the royal quartet into the Great Hall for a last banquet in King Francis' honour before he and his retinue began their journey back to France. His grip on his sister was firm, keeping her from pulling away from him to follow the rest of the court into the Hall, knowing that once she went in there, he would not be able to follow to speak to her and that she was likely to stick close to Anne afterwards, as he could not say what he had to say in front of her.

Mary had known when she first decided to encourage Anne to send Mark to Hatfield as Elizabeth's music master that George would react angrily when he found out and she saw no sense in prolonging the inevitable, something that would only serve to sour her brother's temper rather than give him time to calm down so, once the courtiers had departed, she allowed him to lead her away from the main body of the court, to his own chamber.

Once inside, George glanced around to make sure that his servant was not present, calling out the boy's name as a precaution and, once he was sure that they were alone, he glared at his sister. "I suppose that you think you've been very clever," he remarked bitterly, "going behind my back to get Mark sent away."

"George…" Mary spoke his name gently, wishing that he could understand that, if not for her fear of what would happen to him if he was caught, she would have been happy to leave him to his own devices but that she couldn't do that when she knew that it might cost him his life if he was caught but he was in no mood to listen to that.

"Mark told me," he said accusingly. "Anne asked him to join the household at Hatfield, so that he can teach Elizabeth to play the virginals and the violin – _asked_." He repeated the word with a contemptuous snort. "As if he could refuse when the Queen of England was the one doing the asking!"

"If he refused, I'm sure that Anne wouldn't have tried to force him…"

"But she would have wanted to know why he was refusing, when the post comes with higher wages than he'd get here, not to mention a higher standing in the children's household, as a tutor instead of a hired musician. If she mentioned it to the King, he would be insulted that a musician was declining an offer to teach a princess." George pointed out. "Mark had to say 'yes' – and you knew that he would." He glared at her. "You used Anne to break us apart."

"I had to…"

"Why?" He demanded. "Jane's gone; she's at Grimston now," he said, naming the manor Henry had awarded him as a wedding present, the one where Jane would make her home for the coming months, "and she thinks that it's over between me and Mark. She's happy because she thinks that it's over and because she's got a baby on the way. Once the child is born, she'll never dream of opening her mouth, even if she does start to suspect again. If she says anything, she'll ruin the baby's future."

Mary couldn't help but feel horrified to hear that, wondering if her brother truly realized what it was he was saying, that he regarded his coming child as security, as an assurance that Jane would remain silent, no matter what she later learned, because she would know that if she spoke out, she would be putting her child's future in jeopardy.

If George's liaison with Mark ever became public knowledge, even if George's life was spared, their father would find a way to disinherit him, and George's child by Jane would go from being the child of an earl – and the eventual heir to a dukedom if it was a boy – to being the child of a disgraced, dispossessed man, stripped of his inheritance and of royal favour, banished from the court and from the family as though he was dead. His child would be shunned, tainted by its father's disgrace.

He was probably right that Jane would never risk her child like that but that would not solve all of his problems.

"Jane is not the only person at court with eyes, brother," Mary reminded him quietly. "Even if you can silence her, what about everybody else? Anne won't be able to save you if you're discovered. Father would never even consider letting her try." If Anne hadn't been able to go against their father and allow Mary to remain at court after she married Will, then she certainly would not be able to defy him for George's sake, not when his offence was one that would horrify people far, far more than hers had. The Queen of England could not allow herself to be tainted by scandal; she would have to distance herself from George, for her own sake and that of her children.

"Nobody would need to speak for us if we didn't get caught."

"You would be. Sooner or later, somebody would find out and you would be ruined."

"You don't know that!" George insisted stubbornly, refusing to allow himself to see that she had a point. "We could have been discreet – we haven't been caught so far, have we? – and made it work."

Mary didn't answer. She was sure that George and Mark would eventually have been caught but she was equally sure that her brother was in no frame of mind to listen to what she had to say on the subject, to see the truth of her reasoning and to understand that she had not done this to hurt him.

George glared at her, his quick mind combing through the possibilities. If he asked Anne to keep Mark at court and to find somebody else to teach her daughter, she would want to know why he was asking before she yielded to his request and he had no answer to give her.

He could console himself with the thought that both Anne and the King were fond of Mark, enjoying his music. In Anne's case, Mark was also a friend and, occasionally, a confidante. When the royal children came to court, Mark was likely to accompany them and there was also hope that they would miss his presence and decide that they would rather have him back at court, finding somebody else to teach little Elizabeth. Mark was a genius! He should be at court, at the centre of the revels, playing for royalty and nobility rather than being sent away to the country and relegated to giving music lessons to a small girl, even if she was a princess and he was sure that, sooner or later, they would realize this.

Until then, however, his bed would be a lonely place and it would be a long time before he could forgive Mary for making it that way.

* * *

Her son was beautiful.

Jane didn't think that she would ever tire of combing his soft, white blond hair with her fingertips, crimping the rapidly growing halo of hair into ringlets, or of admiring the perfection of his tiny hands and feet. For weeks after Edward was born, she counted his fingers and toes over and over again, marvelling at how small and how perfect they were.

At almost two months old, he had grown longer and was beginning to put on weight, his limbs filling out to a pleasing plumpness and a dimple appearing in his right cheek, next to his mouth, becoming visible whenever he smiled, something he had begun doing over the past week, much to the delight of his mother and his nursemaids.

Although, to Jane's disappointment, the King had not visited Wolf Hall again since the evening after Edward's birth, when he formally acknowledged him as his own son and decreed that he should carry the title of Lord – something her brother Thomas considered a good sign, especially when the Duke of Richmond had begun his life as plain Master Henry Fitzroy, cheerfully predicting that another, grander title would soon be bestowed on baby Edward – and although he had not sent her or even her father any letters or messages, asking how their baby was faring, he had seen to it that his son was properly provided for, albeit through Master Cromwell. An allowance was delivered monthly for her needs and those of her son and four women; a nurse and her assistant, together with two under servants responsible for seeing to it that the baby's belongings were in order and that his quarters were kept clean, staffed the two rooms designated as Edward's day and night nursery.

Master Cromwell had offered to pay the wages of a wetnurse but Jane refused immediately, not wanting to relinquish her son to another woman. Even if her insistence on feeding her son herself provoked surprise among the servants and disapproval among the members of her family, she had no husband to object and to forbid it, for fear that nursing her child would cause a delay in conceiving another, so she was allowed her own way.

The question of a husband was one that had been broached before and that was likely to be broached again, in the near future, until she yielded.

The King may have seen to it that neither she nor their baby would be a financial burden on her family but, even so, her father was anxious to see her settled, gently telling her that even though she had borne an illegitimate child, it would not be a barrier to her marrying, and marrying well, given that the King would provide her with a dowry and see to it that she made a good match. Her father was concerned about her future, concerned that if she decided against marrying, she would be throwing away her chances to have a proper family.

Her brother Edward also urged her to write to Master Cromwell, asking for a marriage to be arranged for her as quickly as possible. He was blunt when he told her that there was a grave risk that if she did not take advantage of the opportunity to have a match made for her now, if she waited too long before consulting Cromwell about the possibility of a marriage, she might find that the King would not be as generous a year or two down the line as he was prepared to be now, just after she had borne him a son and that as a result, she would not make as good a match as she and her family would have hoped.

This advice might have swayed her, convincing her to write to Master Cromwell immediately and ask him to speak to the King about a marriage for her, except for one thing.

When she married, she would not be able to take Edward with her.

Her father's tone was kind but matter of fact when he explained it to her, his demeanour suggesting that he was astonished that she had to ask about it in the first place. He told her that they could not reasonably expect her prospective husband to welcome another man's bastard into his household, even if the King himself had fathered that bastard and was sure to provide for him amply. He would already have to be generously recompensed for taking on Jane herself. It would be far too much for them to ask him to welcome Edward into his family on top of that.

When she married and moved away to her new home with her husband, whoever he might be, Edward would have to stay behind at Wolf Hall, as her father's ward during his lifetime, after which her oldest brother would assume the role of guardian until he came of age.

She did not doubt that her father would take excellent care of his grandson, of whom he had become very fond, or that the King would continue to see to it that Edward wanted for nothing but the idea of going away from Wolf Hall and leaving her son behind to be raised by others, even her close kin, was an unbearable one.

Better that she remain a spinster for the rest of her days.

Her father had remonstrated with her, trying to convince her that it would be in her best interests to marry, assuring her that her son would be well cared for and trying to comfort her with the promise that visits could be arranged, with her returning to Wolf Hall, or perhaps even with Edward travelling to pay a short visit to her and his new stepfather but Jane refused to be swayed and he had not tried to coerce her, as other men would have. He would continue to try to persuade her but he would not force her into a marriage against her wishes.

She was not going to leave her son, no matter what.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**_29th May 1539_ **

They were going to go to court soon.

It was going to be Harry's birthday in a few days. He would be a big boy, three years old, and because he was the Prince of Wales and a very important person, there would be a special celebration at court, in his honour.

He didn't remember much about his last birthday, he was too little then, but his sister had told him that when it was his birthday, there would be a special feast at court, just for him, that all of the lords and ladies would drink toasts to his health, that he would receive many gifts, that Masses would be said all over England for him, so people could pray that he would be healthy and that he would grow up to be a strong man and a fine King. When his sister had her birthdays, she had a feast and toasts and gifts and Masses but because she was a princess instead of a prince, there was no jousting for her birthday, as there would be for his.

It was exciting to think of all of the things that were going to happen in honour of his birthday but the thing that made Harry happiest was that when he went to court, he would be able to see his Papa and, best of all, his Mama and stay with them for a while and that would be even better than when they came to visit Hatfield.

Lady Bryan was very busy supervising the packing of his clothes and his favourite toys for the trip and so she brought him to the schoolroom, where the girls were doing their lessons, so that Kat, his sister's very own governess, could watch over him.

His sister's real name was Elizabeth but because that was very difficult for him to say when he was a baby and learning how to talk, Harry had only been able to say 'Lilibet' and even though he was big enough to say her name properly now, he preferred to call her Lilibet because that was his special name for her, not one that everybody else used.

Lilibet was a big girl, nearly six and their cousin Annie, who lived with them and who shared Lilibet's lessons, was almost as big, as she was nearly five. Harry was the youngest but because he was the Prince of Wales and because he was going to be the King of England one day, he was the most important person at Hatfield. Lilibet didn't have to curtsey to him because she was a princess and he told Annie that she was not allowed to because she was his very favourite cousin but everybody else had to bow and curtsey and he was too important for them to be permitted to scold him, even if he was naughty and got into mischief.

Kat smiled warmly at him when Lady Bryan led him into the schoolroom, curtseying. "Your Highness." She greeted him kindly, reaching out a hand to take his. "This is an honour." She looked up at Lady Bryan. "I am sure that His Highness will be fine with us, Lady Bryan." She said politely.

"Are you certain?" Lady Bryan looked uncertain as she glanced down at Harry, not liking to leave the little Prince, her special charge, out of her sight but knowing that a small boy would only get into mischief if he was underfoot while they were packing his things and, worse still, that he might trip over something and hurt himself. It would never do for her to bring the Prince to court and let the King and Queen see his face and his body bruised. Kat nodded, a reassuring smile on her face but, even though the other governess was devoted to the royal children, she still felt a little uneasy. "You will let me know if there are any problems." She instructed firmly.

"Of course, Lady Bryan – though I am certain that there won't be." Bending down to pick Harry up, Kat set him on one of the chairs at the table, next to Elizabeth.

"Lilibet!" Harry beamed at his sister, kneeling up on his chair so that he could get a better look at the table and what she and Annie were studying. "What are you doing?"

"We're learning French." Elizabeth explained, showing him the page she was translating for a moment before returning her attention to her work, tuning out her little brother's eager questions, knowing that Annie would be happy to answer Harry's queries. She enjoyed all of her lessons but it was very important for her to work especially hard on her French lessons, since she would be marrying a French prince when she was older and would be living in France, at least some of the time. Luckily, Kat was a very clever woman who knew a lot of languages and, as well as Latin and Italian, she was able to give Elizabeth her first French lessons.

She wondered if the Duke of Orleans was being taught English so that he would be able to speak to her when the time came for them to marry, especially since they would have estates in England as well as in France and would be able to spend time in both countries. Just in case he wasn't being taught, or in case he was slow at his lessons and couldn't learn to speak a new language as quickly and as well as she was able to, she would have to make sure that she studied hard and was able to communicate with him properly.

"Mama speaks French." Harry said with a sunny smile, his pleasure at the thought that he would soon be seeing his mother again plain.

"That's because when she was a girl, she lived in France, at King Francis' court."

"So did my mother." Annie chimed in, not wanting to be left out. "She went to France when Aunt Anne did, because Grandpapa was the ambassador. Mother said that Grandpapa once thought about finding them French husbands. They'd have had to stay in France if he had."

"Oh!" Harry was dismayed by this thought, chewing his lower lip pensively. If Mama had married a Frenchman and never come back to England then she would never have married Papa and there would be no Lilibet and no Harry. That wasn't a nice thought.

"It's lucky that they came back, or we wouldn't be here." Elizabeth observed pensively before returning her attention to her lesson, an example that Kat urged Annie to follow.

When Harry was three, he would start to do some lessons with Lady Bryan, who had already begun to teach him his ABCs and his numbers with his hornbook, but he had no lesson to learn today and he felt rather bored, until Kat supplied him with a sheet of parchment and a stick of charcoal.

"Perhaps you would like to draw a picture, Your Highness." She suggested kindly.

"Yes!" Harry beamed, seizing the charcoal in one chubby fist and pulling the parchment closer to him. "One for Mama." He decided, liking the idea of being able to bring her a gift when he went to court.

"I am sure that she will be very pleased with it, Your Highness." Kat told him, glad to see him happily occupied. Although, like everybody else at Hatfield, she was fond of little Harry, she knew that a bored small boy could get into mischief, more often than not, and her two pupils were already excited about the idea of going back to court and did not need another distraction.

She surveyed her three charges for a few moments before walking across to the cupboard and removing a small plate of candied fruit and sticky cubes of marzipan from it, holding a finger in front of her lips to hush Harry before he could express his pleasure at the sight. The two girls were accustomed to her ways, as this wasn't the first time that Kat had sneaked them treats during their lessons and they knew better than to make a noise that would alert others. Lady Bryan preferred to stick to plain fare for the young inhabitants of the royal nurseries, at least as far as possible, believing that too many rich foods and sweetmeats would be bad for their teeth and for their digestion but, while she saw the sense of this policy in principle, Kat did not see the harm in an occasional treat.

Elizabeth and Annie both approved of her attitude wholeheartedly and would never have dreamed of saying a word to Lady Bryan, knowing that if the other governess, who was in charge of running the nursery and the whole household, knew of it, she would make Kat stop sneaking them treats, which was the last thing that either of them wanted.

"You must not tell Lady Bryan about this, Harry." Elizabeth told her little brother firmly. "Or she'll be very cross. This is a secret for big children." She laid a pointed stress on the word 'big', knowing how much Harry hated it when people treated him like a baby. "Since you're going to be three soon, you can keep it for us, can't you?" Harry nodded solemnly, proud to be trusted with so important a secret and Elizabeth rewarded him with a wide smile. "Good boy."

"I'm sure that we can trust the Prince." Kat agreed, setting a few of the candies in front of each child and gently ruffling Harry's dark hair, soft as silk and still in its baby curls, as she gave him his portion. "He's getting to be a big boy now."

"Very big." Harry agreed, his brow furrowed in concentration as he counted the candies in front of him. He couldn't count very high yet but he knew his numbers all the way up to ten. He carefully tallied his supply of candies, counting a second time just in case he made a mistake. He had three candies. He picked one up and ate it, licking the sugar from his lips as he counted again to see how many he had left. Two candies left. He was about to eat another one when he changed his mind, slipping them into his pocket instead, reminding himself to make sure that he took them out of his pocket and hid them before the evening, when he would be undressed for his bath, a process supervised by Lady Bryan.

He would save them for later.

"Kat?" He spoke the governess' name in a hissed whisper, not wanting to interrupt Lilibet and Annie when they were studying their lessons.

"Yes, Your Highness?" Kat looked up from Annie's work and seeing that he had already finished his candies and assuming that he wanted to coax her into giving him another, she slipped a cube of marzipan into the chubby hand. "You may have one more, Your Highness, but that's all." She told him.

Harry was not about to argue when he was being offered an additional treat so he popped the marzipan into his mouth and chewed it happily but that didn't make him forget what it was he wanted to ask about and, as soon as he had swallowed – Lady Bryan always insisted that it was very bad manners to speak when one's mouth was full, especially for a prince – he asked his question.

"When will we be going to court?"

"Tomorrow morning, Your Highness." Kat told him in a soft voice, smiling indulgently at him, knowing how much he was looking forward to seeing his parents, particularly his mother. Although the King and Queen visited Hatfield as often as they could, it was a long time between visits for a small boy. "Everything will be packed up tonight and then we will all have to get up early tomorrow so that we can eat our breakfast before we set off. Are you looking forward to it?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically. If he had his way, they would leave Hatfield right now so that they could get to court and to Mama and Papa even earlier but if he _had_ to, he could wait a little longer.

In the meantime, he had a picture to draw and he was determined that it would be perfect when he gave it to his Mama.

* * *

Cromwell was a shrewd, intelligent man, one who had been of invaluable assistance to her and to Henry during the years in which they fought to find a way to free him from his union to Katherine to allow him to marry her, just as he had aided them in ensuring that her position as Queen and the rights of their children to be the first heirs to the throne were confirmed and protected but, despite that, there were times when Anne wondered if the man was mad.

It was no secret that she and Cromwell had had their differences in the past, or that the issue of the fates of the religious houses had been the subjects of disputes between them for years and, despite the fact that he was outwardly supportive of her efforts in utilizing the resources of the properties given into her keeping for the benefit of the needy people in the surrounding areas, Anne knew better than to think that he approved of her initiatives or that he had any intention of following her example. He might praise her for the fact that her projects were working out well, at least in Henry's presence, but she suspected that he would have preferred it if they had failed, putting an end to the issue.

On the whole, the people had accepted Henry as Supreme Head of the Church, with only a tiny handful refusing to take the Oath acknowledging his supremacy when they were called upon to do so and the availability of the Bible in English was welcomed but there were still grumblings about the closures of the religious houses, closures that had already left countless monks and nuns dispossessed, depriving the communities around the monasteries or convents of their services. Even if people could understand and agree with the closing of the corrupt religious houses, there were some which had received good reports, establishments that were home to truly pious men and women who sought to serve God as best they could and the people balked at the idea of those establishments being closed down, especially when they knew that the income from most of those properties would be diverted to the Crown and that others were likely to be turned over to an already wealthy courtier, who would exploit the building and the surrounding land for his own benefit, not caring if the land had previously been used for cultivation by the local people or for grazing their cattle.

Anne could count the number of properties given into her charge on her fingers, compared with the hundreds of religious houses being suppressed. The first school she founded had been joined by two others, all of them doing well, and most of the land had been parcelled into farms and granted to dispossessed families but she was only able to help a handful of those who needed it, a tiny minority of the people who had lost out because of Cromwell's measures and it simply wasn't going to be enough to stop people resenting what was happening.

Cromwell and his agents might tell the people that the dissolution of the monasteries was in the best interests of the country and, from a spiritual perspective, Anne agreed that they would be better off if the monks and nuns did not hold such sway over men's souls, but from a practical perspective, there had been no gains for almost all of the common people and this was resented.

Now, the only religious houses left open were the largest and most prosperous, the ones that had been investigated thoroughly by Cromwell's agents but which had earned good reports, despite several repeat visits in the hopes of catching the inhabitants out in some misdemeanour. Some of the abbots and abbesses governing these establishments had blood ties to prominent families. These houses were the ones that Anne hoped to persuade Henry to leave alone, trying to convince him that the benefit to the treasury would be outweighed by the bad feelings that would be stirred up among the people if he and Cromwell followed through with their plans.

When the issue was set aside temporarily, with Cromwell contenting himself with shutting down the houses reported as corrupt, or those with property yielding lower incomes and leaving the others alone, she was pleased but her relief was short-lived. Cromwell had convinced Henry that it was in the best interests of both the Crown and the country if the remaining religious houses were stripped of their assets, a measure that would enrich the royal treasury considerably, making Henry the wealthiest King in Europe, at least according to Cromwell's optimistic calculations, a prospect that he found far from unappealing.

Her mistake was going straight to her husband when she heard the news that the issue was to be reopened, conveyed to her by her uncle who, as President of the Privy Council – jointly with her father, who replaced the Duke of Suffolk when Henry asked his friend to step down almost two years ago – was among the first to learn of Cromwell's intentions.

If she had waited to catch him by himself, when they were eating dinner or when they were out riding together, then perhaps she might have been able to coax him into abandoning his plans, or at least sparing some of the most prominent religious houses in order to pacify public feeling but she went straight to him, afraid that if she waited, she would be too late, that he would have given his approval to Cromwell's plans already and that he would be unwilling to risk losing face by going back on what he had said.

Cromwell was with him and he had anticipated her objections and was primed with his responses.

"There is nothing for Your Majesty to be concerned about, I assure you." He told her patiently, daring a breach in etiquette by responding to her before Henry could speak. "My sources tell me that while there were some who were wary of the changes at first, now that the corruption of the religious houses has been ended, they are pleased to see it, pleased that they no longer need to turn over a portion of the money they earned and the crops they grew through their own hard labours to feckless, idle people who call themselves the servants of God." He frowned slightly, as though appalled by their wickedness, as though he was not emulating the corrupt monks he decried by profiting from the dissolution of their monasteries.

"But the proceeds…"

"Will go to Your Majesties' treasury, naturally." Cromwell finished for her, lifting one eyebrow in carefully feigned surprise, as though she should have known that already or as though he thought that she might be accusing him of seeking to profit personally from his work and was insulted by the implication. Anne didn't doubt that he was either yielding some personal benefit or that he was planning to but she suspected that, like Wolsey, if Cromwell was defrauding Henry, he would be clever and discreet enough about it to ensure that it would be extremely difficult to prove that he had done so. Wolsey's theft had escaped detection for years and might have continued to do so for the rest of his life, but for the fact that Anne's father was given a post that allowed him to examine the accounts of the King's household in great detail and that he perused them for evidence of treachery on the late cardinal's part. "You must not think that the King and I do not share your concerns about the loss to the common people, when the religious houses near them are closed down." He added, his choice of words making it clear that he was casting himself and Henry as allies and placing her on the other side of the dispute, should she persist in disagreeing with them.

"Of course we do, sweetheart." Henry's tone was kind but there was the slightest of edges to his voice, one that she would not have perceived five or six years ago but that she had learned to be sensitive to in more recent times, allowing her to judge when she was at risk of pushing him too far and unleashing his temper against her. "You don't doubt that, do you?"

Her father did not approve of the fact that she chose to express her opinion on affairs of state but he had given her one piece of invaluable advice a couple of years ago, when he told her that if she must meddle, she should take care to do it subtly, and with a smile on her face; what she said to Henry was less important than how she said it and how she chose her timing. Arguing was unlikely to help her cause half as much as persuasion could.

Now, sensing that it would not take much to make him angry, she gave him a sweet, apologetic half-smile, laying her hand across his. "Of course not, how could I ever doubt it?" She said, as though the idea that he might consider anything but the welfare of his people was completely and utterly unthinkable. She wondered if this was something that Katherine had had to learn to do; to give advice without appearing to do so. Her Uncle Norfolk once told her that at the beginning of Henry's reign, when he was little more than a boy, Katherine had been his closest and most trusted advisor but her role was gradually usurped by Wolsey and before Anne even made her debut at the English court, Henry refused to listen to anything she had to say about affairs of state, even when it concerned the marriage and future of their daughter. She did not intend for that to happen to her and if she had to coat her advice with honey in order to make it more palatable, she would do it. She lowered her voice to a penitent whisper, her words meant only for her husband's ears. "Forgive me."

As she expected, Henry softened at this, returning her smile. "There's nothing to forgive, my love – I am pleased to see that you have a care for the welfare of our people, as a Queen should, and I know how much you want to help them." He seemed to have forgotten that Cromwell was in the room with them as he cupped her chin in one hand, drawing her face towards his and kissing her temple. "I know how hard you've been working to try to help those who need it with your monasteries," he praised her, "and you've done so well."

Cromwell was not pleased to hear this and he hastened to speak up, as if he was afraid that she might sway Henry towards her point of view and away from his own. "Indeed, Your Majesty, your good works have been noted and appreciated by the people." He said, adding his own praise to Henry's, speaking in a clipped voice, anxious to find a way to steer their conversation in a direction he preferred. "But we cannot expect you to shoulder the burden for all of England, madam." He said solicitously, meeting Henry's eyes over Anne's head, as though to suggest that she might be taking on more than she could manage and that she should be made to slow down, for her own good. "It would be unfair to ask that of you."

It was on the tip of Anne's tongue to point out that they weren't asking anything of her, finding new and better uses for the resources of the religious houses placed at her disposal was a task that she was happy to take on, and one that she considered to be a far better use of her time than sitting in her rooms with her ladies while they stitched at a useless tapestry or piece of embroidery but Henry was already nodding agreement with Cromwell, looking at her with concern in his eyes. She could read his thoughts as though they were written on parchment in front of her, knowing that he would be worrying about whether she had already taken on too much and whether, instead of giving her more freedom to do her work, he should consider curtailing her activities for fear that she might exhaust herself if she was allowed to take on too much.

Since Harry was born, Henry had developed a maddening habit of going through phases of treating her like a fragile flower, too delicate to be allowed to be troubled over the slightest thing, fussing over her whenever she was unwell or whenever he thought that she might be chilled or tired. In some ways, it was sweet and it was certainly an improvement over the days when her feelings had meant nothing to him but it was problematic at times like this, especially when men like Cromwell knew of it and used Henry's solicitousness as a weapon against her, neatly blocking her attempts to take a more active role in state affairs by appealing to his concern.

"You can leave this to us, sweetheart." Henry said gently, stroking her cheek before releasing her. "You're going to have your hands full when the children arrive tomorrow, in any case."

This was an exaggeration; even when Elizabeth and Harry were at court, their nurses and governesses still ruled over their small world and Anne was expected to leave them to it. If she wanted to see her children, she could send a message to Lady Bryan instructing that they should be brought to her apartment or to the gardens to see her, she could even dismiss their attendants and hers so that they might enjoy some precious time alone together but there could be no question of her paying an unannounced visit to their nurseries, a world into which she would not be invited. She saw her children when they were washed and combed and dressed, never when they were tired and cranky or when they were dirty, their clothes torn or stained from play.

She loved them more than anything and knew that they loved her but even when they were at court, living under the same roof, she was nothing more than a visitor in their lives.

However, even if it wouldn't have pained her to argue that point, Anne had learned to recognize a dismissal when she heard it.

She rose from her chair, glancing down at Henry. "With your permission, Your Majesty, I will retire for the afternoon." She excused herself formally.

"Of course, sweetheart." As she turned to leave, he caught her by the hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it gently. "When Master Cromwell and I are finished here, we can go out riding together. Would you like that?"

"I would." She smiled again, hoping that once they were alone, away from Cromwell, she might be able to revisit the issue.

Cromwell stood when she did, moving to open the door for her with a formal bow as she departed, his tone and his words completely respectful as he bid her farewell, thanking her for her advice but even his carefully expressionless mask could not conceal the slight glint of triumph in his eyes as he watched her leave, satisfied that he had won this round and that the proposed dissolution would continue as he had planned, despite her qualms. Cromwell tended to be careful about pitting himself against her, at least as a general rule, but the issue of the religious houses was one that he felt strongly about and one that he was prepared to brave Anne's displeasure over if it meant that he could continue as he wished to.

Under other circumstances, she might have admired his tenacity but this was one issue that she could not feel comfortable allowing him to have his way with, not without a fight.

Her father disagreed.

"You need to be careful not to set yourself against Master Cromwell." He told her calmly when she expressed her concerns to him and to her uncle after leaving Henry's study, a hint of a reprimand in his tone but no more than that. She might be his daughter but over the past couple of years, he very seldom forgot that she was also his Queen, even now when they were in her rooms, with her ladies dismissed and only Norfolk present. "He's a man that you are much better off having on your side, and his plans have their merits; the religious houses need to be shut down before their corruption spreads and, at the same time, he's going to make the King a very rich monarch – which means that your son will inherit that wealth one day, and that will help to keep him safe. You're worrying too much."

"On the contrary," Norfolk spoke up, "I think that Anne is seeing things more clearly than you are. The people may have accepted that the King is now Supreme Head of the Church, and a great many of them seem to be pleased that England is now independent of the Bishop of Rome," he grimaced slightly at this; although, like any courtier with sense, he saw the wisdom in going along with Henry's reforms, at his heart he was a devout Catholic and could not feel entirely comfortable with the changes the past decade had wrought on the English church, "but the monasteries and their like are a different story. Many of them have been at the heart of their communities for hundreds of years and their loss has been keenly felt. The people have contented themselves with grumbling, so far, but that may not always be the case."

"You think that there could be trouble, Uncle?" Anne asked.

"I think that the possibility should not be ruled out." He told her soberly. "The work that you are doing _is_ appreciated by the people who benefit from it but there are limits to what you can do and in areas where the former religious houses are under the control of the Lord Chancellor, there is considerable resentment among the local population. My fear is that Master Cromwell may discover that the people will not be so willing to accept the planned closures as they have in the past. If so, there could be serious trouble."

Boleyn frowned, first at his brother-in-law and then at his daughter. "I think that you exaggerate the danger." He said curtly, displeased to see Anne looking to her uncle for his opinion before she looked to him for his. When Anne first began her work with the religious houses, he considered her foolish to interfere in such a matter and Norfolk even more of a fool for encouraging her but had not given the matter much more thought than that, especially since Anne's work had the King's blessing but now he could see that it was a mistake on his part to allow Norfolk to be the one to step in and offer his assistance and, by doing so, to win Anne's gratitude and affection. "The people of England are loyal to their King, and they know that this is done for their benefit."

"I hope you're right, Papa." Anne said quietly, the doubt in her voice plain.

She would do what she could to urge Henry to change his mind but she had a sinking suspicion that she would not succeed. If she couldn't convince Henry, she prayed that her father's prediction that the people would be too loyal to their King to let their displeasure show.

They could not afford for her uncle to be right.

* * *

**_30th May 1539_ **

"Anne, calm down." Lady Mary Stafford urged her younger sister, watching with a half-indulgent, half-exasperated smile as Anne paced the confines of her apartment like a caged lioness, stopping periodically to issue instructions to her ladies regarding the preparations that were being made for the children's arrival with Beau, the spaniel puppy Henry had presented her with at the beginning of the month, trotting at her heels and barking excitedly. "They're not going to arrive any sooner because you've got yourself worked up over things."

They were due to arrive in the early afternoon and they were to be brought straight to Anne's rooms as soon as they changed out of their travelling clothes, so that Elizabeth and Harry could eat dinner with their parents. Mary and Will would be able to take their little daughter Annie to spend some time with them, both of them having been released from their duties as lady-in-waiting and gentleman of the Privy Chamber respectively for the duration of the visit.

Anne didn't even seem to hear Mary's admonition as she dispatched Madge Shelton with a message to the kitchens, ensuring that they would have a plate of Elizabeth's favourite cakes, sticky with honey and nuts, ready to bring up with the meal. "I should have written to Lady Bryan to check that their favourite foods were still the same." She fretted as she absently toyed with the fine silk napkins laid out at each place, hoping that Elizabeth hadn't chosen a new favourite food since she had last seen their daughter.

"They're children, they'll like anything you give them as long as it's sweet – and if they won't eat them, the King will." She added, her remark prompting a giggle from Anne.

Thanks to the hard exercise he took, Henry was able to keep a trim figure but it could not be denied that he had an excellent appetite and a particular weakness for sweet things. If not for his hours of riding and tennis and archery, he would be a much more rotund man.

"I can't believe that the Prince is going to be three years old." Nan Saville said, her tone one of awed disbelief. "It seems like barely one year ago that we were all in here, sewing his first gowns and swaddling bands."

Anne shuddered involuntarily at the memory of what the months preceding Harry's birth were like.

At first, she was so happy to learn that Katherine was dead and that the Queen's crown was now far more securely placed on her own head – although, with hindsight, she realized that Katherine's death could have worked against her instead of in her favour under other circumstances; as long as the woman styling herself as his true wife lived, Henry couldn't discard Anne without being forced to take Katherine back, something his pride would never have allowed, even if he wanted to do it but once Katherine was dead, setting Anne aside would be a much simpler matter – and learning that she was pregnant seemed like a clear sign that things were changing for the better for her. At one point, she was even making optimistic plans to extend overtures of friendship to her stepdaughter as soon as her son was born, thinking that even the Lady Mary would not maintain her obstinacy once there was a prince in the nursery and that, following the death of her mother, she might be more willing to accept a reconciliation.

Her happiness faded when she was bluntly informed by Henry that, to thank Sir John Seymour for his gracious hospitality, the man's daughter, Jane, was to be brought to court and granted a position as a lady-in-waiting in her household. He hadn't even troubled to couch it as a suggestion, allowing her the slight dignity of issuing the invitation herself and being able to pretend that she still had some say regarding the ladies who would be her closest attendants.

Even now, she honestly did not know whether or not Henry had believed that she was ignorant of the true reasons for Jane Seymour's appointment, whether he had thought that she was naïve enough to believe that he truly considered that Sir John's hospitality towards himself for one night and towards several dozen of their courtiers for an afternoon a few days later merited such an appointment, when other nobles had housed half the court during the royal progresses, for days and sometimes even weeks on end, spending a fortune to ensure that their hospitality was worthy of their royal guests, in some cases coming perilously close to ending up in debt over it, but were not rewarded with one of the coveted appointments for their female relatives, no matter how many discreet hints they dropped.

Anne knew exactly what the appointment signified, and she had better reason than most for that. When Henry took a fancy to her sister Mary in Calais, bringing her back to England and installing her as his mistress, she was given a position as one of Katherine's ladies-in-waiting to provide an excuse for her presence at court. Once the affair ended, only a few short months after it began, she was removed from Katherine's household, leaving the court to marry William Carey. When Anne's father and uncle decided that she should follow in her sister's footsteps, one of the first moves they made was to secure her a position in Katherine's household, bribing the then-Queen's chamberlain to do so, knowing how vital it was that they take this step.

Henry might have been able to convince himself that nobody could possibly suspect the true reasons for the sudden inclusion of Jane Seymour, the daughter of a knight who had never progressed very far in court circles, in the Queen's household, despite the fact that there were no vacant positions and that, if there had been, a long list of nobly born families had been vying for them, some of them attempting to sway Anne with gifts in order to give themselves an advantage over the competition when a position next became available, to convince himself that he was guarding the virtuous reputation of his precious Jane by using Anne as a smokescreen but if he could, he was the only one. Everybody else at court, including the Seymours, had known what was going on.

One would have thought that any laughter or mockery would be directed at the King, for his transparent attempts at covering up his true feelings but Anne was uncomfortably aware of the fact that she was the one that people were whispering of behind her back, some pityingly and many more gloatingly, exulting in the fact that her hold on the King was slipping and that even his ardent desire for a son and her condition could not keep him faithful, or prompt him to make more than a token attempt at discretion to spare her feelings.

Then came the jousting accident, the terrible hours during which Henry lay unconscious and even Dr Linacre couldn't say whether or not he would survive, hours during which Anne was aware that Master Cromwell and her father were busying themselves with arrangements for Elizabeth's coronation in the event of her father's death and with precautions to keep the Lady Mary from escaping and fomenting a rebellion against her half-sister's claim to the throne, aware that she should be helping them, as they were securing the future of her child, for whom she would be responsible if Henry died but unable to tear herself away from the altar and from her fervent prayers for her husband's life.

When Henry told her that he now knew that he could no longer behave as he once had, promising that those days were now behind him, she badly wanted to believe it but she couldn't convince herself of it, especially when he reproved her for concerning herself with Elizabeth's marriage before the Lady Mary was betrothed, a clear indication that their child, conceived during the passionate, love-filled days they spent in Calais, was not his priority, despite the fact that she was his only legitimate child and, until her brother was born, his heir, and that Katherine's daughter, whom the Seymours were rumoured to support, was the one occupying his thoughts.

Finding Henry sitting with Jane on his lap, their lips meeting in a tender kiss, horrified her but that horror was nothing compared to the terror she experience when she woke up to find herself bleeding, her body racked by pains and her son slipping away from her.

Even before she was confined to bed, for the sake of her unborn child, her pregnancy was a difficult, stressful time and, while Harry was more than compensation for all she had gone through, her pregnancy was not a time that she wanted to remember.

Nan seemed to realize this, apologizing quietly and finding a task with which to busy herself.

"Are you alright, Anne?" Mary asked softly, seeing some of the happiness leave her sister's eyes and knowing the reason for it. Anne may have coped reasonably well with the knowledge that her husband had had an affair with Mistress Seymour while she was carrying little Harry – mercifully, she had no idea that the King had been with another woman while she was in labour and nobody who knew of this would be cruel enough to tell her – and with the knowledge that that affair had led to the birth of a son but there were still times when the memories caused her pain, even though the King, to the best of Mary's knowledge and everyone else's, had been a faithful and loving husband, ever since.

Anne nodded, determinedly pushing her thoughts to the back of her mind. "Fine."

"Are you sure?" Mary pressed.

Anne didn't say anything and she was very relieved when she heard the noise that heralded her children's approach, a joyful smile on her face when the door to her apartment opened to admit them. All of her ladies curtsied when the children entered, showing them the deference they were due because of their status, despite their ages. Annie Stafford darted to her mother's side at once, delighted to see her again and happy to ignore the ceremony for her cousins.

Elizabeth acknowledged the greetings with a smile, and then ran straight to her mother, flinging her arms around her. "Mama!"

"Hello, my darling." Anne knelt down to child level, hugging Elizabeth tightly before holding out one arm to Harry, who tugged his hand out of Lady Bryan's grasp to run to her, clinging tightly to her neck and giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek.

"My Mama." He kissed her again, loosening his hold on her neck but not letting go altogether. "I drewed you a picture – Kat has it." He announced excitedly, bouncing a little while he waited for the governess to approach, carrying the rolled up parchment, and hand it to Anne. "Do you like it?" He asked as soon as it was unrolled.

"It's wonderful." Anne assured him, hugging him to her as she looked at the picture, trying to determine what the blurred object was supposed to be, not wanting to hurt her son's feelings by guessing incorrectly.

Thankfully, Harry was too excited to wait for her to guess what the subject of his drawing was. "It's you, Mama." He informed her, pointing out various parts of the picture with a chubby finger. "That's your head and that's your eyes and that's your hair and that's your dress and that's your crown." He finished, pointing to a rough, zigzagged line representing a crown and smiling up at her. "I have another present for you too." He slipped one hand into his pocket but seemed to think better of the gesture, glancing back at Lady Bryan before whispering something in Anne's ear.

If Anne was puzzled by her young son's request, she did a masterful job of concealing it, looking up at her children's Lady Governess. "You may leave us, Lady Bryan." She instructed, seeing from Lady Bryan's face that she was surprised, and more than a little put out by this command. She could not argue, however, so she merely curtsied and excused herself.

Once he was satisfied that his governess was safely out of the way, Harry fished a folded handkerchief out of his pocket, taking his other arm from around Anne's neck so that he could unwrap the package, revealing a piece of candied fruit and a cube of marzipan, both of them looking rather squashed, and solemnly presenting them to her. "I saved these for you." He told her.

The scowl that Elizabeth shot her younger brother was a fierce one and for a moment, Harry couldn't think why she might be so upset with him, then he glanced behind his shoulder, to where Kat was standing by the doorway.

"Sorry, Lilibet, I forgot that Mama didn't know." He apologized earnestly before turning his attention to Anne. "Lady Bryan's not s'posed to know so you mustn't tell her." He cautioned her in a solemn tone. "It's a secret and we don't want Kat to be in trouble."

Anne's ladies-in-waiting were all amused by the little prince's words, some of them doing a better job of concealing it than others. On the other hand, poor Kat looked more than a little uncomfortable, worried that Anne might not approve of her encouraging the children to keep secrets from Lady Bryan but Anne just smiled at her before returning her attention to her son, drawing a cross over her heart with one finger.

"I won't tell Lady Bryan, I promise." She assured him.

"Good." Harry beamed. "When's Papa coming?"

"Papa's here!" Henry announced from behind him, adopting a deep tone that startled both children and prompted a round of giggles. He shot Anne a mock-chiding look. "You never told me that we had visitors, sweetheart."

"Very important ones." She agreed.

"The _most_ important." He corrected her, bending down to scoop Elizabeth up in his arms first, swinging her around and kissing her on the cheek. "My Elizabeth – my beautiful jewel of England." He greeted her, surveying her with the pride of an adoring father for a few moments before shifting her to one arm and reaching to pick up Harry with his other arm, grunting theatrically and pretending to stagger under the added weight. "And our birthday boy – if he is our boy." He added, feigning doubt. "I think that they may be trying to fool us, sweetheart," he told Anne seriously. "This can't be our Harry; our Harry isn't as big a boy as this one. Did you bring us the wrong boy?" He asked Kat, in tones of mock outrage. "Did you leave our Prince Harry at Hatfield?"

"No, Your Majesty." Kat assured him, curtseying and lowering her eyes to hide her mirth.

"I am your boy." Harry insisted.

"It really _is_ Harry." Annie Stafford piped up earnestly.

Henry turned to the little girl with an indulgent smile. Annie may have been Anne's niece rather than her daughter but the resemblance was uncanny; they had the same dark hair and blue eyes and even the same smile. Her resemblance to Anne would have been enough to make him fond of her but as well as that, she was bright and witty, with a keen sense of humour and an earnest desire to please. "Are you sure?" He asked.

She nodded, curtseying gracefully. "Yes, Uncle King." She told him, her choice of name for him provoking a grin from Henry.

He looked back at Harry, guessing from the expression on his son's face that he had carried the joke far enough and not wanting to upset the little boy by continuing to doubt his identity. He kissed him on the cheek. "Well, if Annie vouches for you, you must be our Harry – you just grew so big that I didn't recognize you."

Harry beamed proudly at this. "That's alright." He said magnanimously, patting his father's shoulder. "You just made a mistake."

"I see." Henry grinned, bouncing the children in his arms to make them laugh.

Mary asked her sister a quiet question and, when Anne nodded in response, she took her own little daughter by the hand to lead her away, curtseying deeply to the royal family as they took their leave, an example followed by most of the children's attendants and Anne's. Kat remained in the apartment, taking a seat far enough from the table where the meal was being set out to allow them a measure of privacy but close enough to be on hand should Elizabeth or Harry need her for any reason, and Nan Saville and Madge remained to serve them.

As the room was cleared, Henry carried his children over to the table, setting them down in their chairs, one after the other, before holding out Anne's chair for her. Seeing Elizabeth fastidiously washing her hand in the finger bowl and draping her napkin over her lap, while Harry watched her with keen brown eyes and carefully imitated her, he grinned, amused by their careful table manners. Their governesses had clearly done an excellent job of making sure that their young charges were taught the rules of proper behaviour, despite their tender years and Elizabeth, in particular, seemed to be very conscious of the dignity that her rank as a Princess of England demanded.

He had breakfasted early and his appetite was keen so he waited until Madge had helped him to a generous serving of cold meats and salad and he had sated his first pangs of hunger before he spoke, addressing little Harry. "Are you looking forward to your birthday?" He asked good-naturedly, seeing from his son's enthusiastic nod that this was the case.

"And to the joust!" Harry wriggled in his chair, his excitement plain. "I want to see the joust."

"You will, darling." Anne promised him, reaching out to touch his chubby cheek, marvelling at the obvious health and high spirits of the son who had come so perilously close to not surviving long enough to draw breath, before looking at Elizabeth and including her daughter in her smile. "You'll both be sitting in the royal box with your Papa and I, so you'll be able to see everything."

"Good." Elizabeth beamed.

"Will I get presents?" Harry asked, wanting to make sure that this was the case. Three was a very big birthday so he thought that he should get lots and lots of presents.

"Of course." Henry assured him, his tone making it plain that he would have considered such an omission to be utterly unthinkable.

"What presents?" Harry demanded, the wait seeming unbearably long.

Henry tapped his son's nose with a gentle finger, shaking his head in mock-reproof. "You'll have to wait until your birthday to find out, Harry."

"It's only two days away," Anne added coaxingly, knowing that for a child as young and as excited as Harry, any kind of wait would seem to last an eternity. "You can wait two days to find out, can't you – for me? I wanted it to be a surprise."

Harry gave her a sunny smile, nodding obediently. There was very little that he wouldn't have been willing to do if it would please his Mama. If she asked him to wait, he would wait… he'd just rather if he didn't have to wait very long. "Is it a nice surprise?" He asked.

"Very nice." Anne assured him. "I think that you'll like it very much."

"I _know_ that you'll like it." Henry seconded her, confident that the gift he and Anne had selected as their son's chief birthday present was one to delight any small boy.

Harry nodded, satisfied. If both of his parents said that his surprise present was a nice one, he believed them and he was really looking forward to seeing what it was for himself

He could wait two days for that.

He was a big boy now.

* * *

**_1st June 1539_ **

This was the first time that Harry had been permitted to watch a joust.

Lilibet had been allowed to attend before but she was older. Usually, Harry might be permitted to go down for a few minutes to see the knights and the noblemen in their armour and to pet their horses before the jousting began but after that, he would be borne back to the nursery by Lady Bryan, who said that the excitement would not be good for such a little boy and that there was plenty of time for him to watch the jousting when he was older.

Today, he was three and because today's jousting was in his honour, for his birthday, he was allowed to watch and he was very excited.

The sun was shining brightly and it was very hot outside but the royal family was sheltered by a silk canopy to keep them cool and shaded. Four thrones were set up under the canopy, big ones for his Mama and his Papa and smaller ones for him and for Lilibet. A huge banner hung behind the thrones, displaying the royal coat of arms, together with the Tudor rose, Mama's white falcon and the letters H and A. H was for Henry, which was Papa's name and Harry's too and A was for Anne, Mama's name. There was no E for Elizabeth but Lilibet said that she didn't mind that.

Her throne was next to Mama's while Harry sat next to Papa.

Like the other ladies, Lilibet wore a silk ribbon tied around her wrist, so that she would be ready in case any of the knights asked to wear her favour.

She did not have to wait long.

George, handsome in shining silver armour, approached on horseback, inclining his head in a bow to his sister and his brother-in-law before smiling at his niece. "Princess Elizabeth," He bowed his head in her direction, a grave expression on his face. "Will you do me the honour of allowing me to wear your favour today, Your Highness?" He asked, knowing how much it would delight her to have somebody seeking to wear her favour, even if it was her uncle.

Elizabeth beamed at him, glancing towards her parents for permission.

"If you like, sweetheart." Henry told her with a smile.

Elizabeth rose, hurrying over to the railing, trying to untie the ribbon around her wrist but, in her excitement, her fingers fumbled and Anne had to come to the rescue, untying the ribbon and then helping her to tie it around George's lance. Once it was done, George bowed his thanks and Elizabeth curtsied slightly in response.

"Good luck, Uncle George."

"If I am wearing the favour of such a beautiful lady, I won't need luck." He assured her gallantly.

From behind Elizabeth, Anne silently mouthed the words 'thank you', touched by her brother's affection for his niece, before speaking aloud, a teasing glint in her eyes as she addressed her brother. "You're going to have all the other combatants feeling envious of you, George," she ribbed him lightly, resting her hands on Elizabeth's shoulders.

"They should be envious – I have the favour of the loveliest maiden here." George said with an impish grin, giving Elizabeth a final smile as he raised his lance in salute before riding off.

Taking Elizabeth by the hand, Anne led her daughter back to their place. As they took their seats, her father leaned over to speak to Elizabeth.

"I hope that your champion does you credit today, my dear." He told Elizabeth genially.

"He will." Elizabeth said with serene confidence, settling back in her place to watch.

"Poor George may find that he will have his hands full in a few years, once Nell is old enough to expect him to wear her favour." Anne remarked, referring to the youngest member of the Boleyn clan, at least so far, and seeing her father's face darken slightly at the mention of the child's name.

While the sex of baby Eleanor had not been as big a disappointment as that of her cousin Elizabeth, born four years earlier, Thomas Boleyn was still dismayed that the first grandchild to carry his name was female. He had confidently anticipated the birth of another Thomas Boleyn, a baby boy who would be born Viscount Rochford and who could be expected to have a glorious future at court both as the eventual heir to a dukedom and as nephew by marriage to the present King and cousin to his heir apparent, had made it clear to both Jane and George that he expected a grandson from them, and he was far from pleased to be introduced to the Lady Eleanor Boleyn instead, obstinately refusing to attend his granddaughter's christening.

He was mollified somewhat by the fact that Jane was pregnant again, with the promise of a new grandchild within a few weeks, before Eleanor, nicknamed Nell by her younger aunt and godmother before she was a month old, was due to celebrate her second birthday but all three of Boleyn's children knew that nothing would satisfy him except that he had a grandson through George and that if his newest grandchild proved to be another girl, he would show his disappointment and anger.

When Elizabeth was born, Anne was well aware of the fact that her beloved baby daughter's sex had come as a disappointment to many – though she was sure that others viewed it as nothing more than her just desserts, her punishment for being so proud as to assume that she would be blessed with a son – and horribly conscious of the fact that she too had been disappointed when her sister first gently broke the news to her that she had borne a daughter, seeing it as something that she owed her husband an apology for. It had not taken long for that disappointment to melt away in her adoration of her newborn child but Anne still felt guilty when she thought about her initial discontent following Elizabeth's birth and she was pleased to see that George didn't seem to experience any displeasure regarding Nell's arrival, quite the contrary.

He was delighted with her and, although he could get away from court to visit Hever, where Jane was residing with their small daughter while she awaited the birth of the next baby, only infrequently, he sent the toddler many gifts and eagerly read the reports he was sent on her health and progress.

More than one courtier had remarked on the fact that they had never seen a man so pleased to be presented with a daughter as his firstborn, their tones slightly doubtful when they spoke of it, as though they could not decide whether George should be admired for his cheerful acceptance of his daughter's sex or whether they should look askance at him over his unusual behaviour. The ladies of the court seemed to agree that Jane was very fortunate to have a husband who did not reproach her for presenting him with a daughter rather than a son.

From his throne, Harry shifted impatiently for a few minutes before hopping down, running past his father to his mother and tugging on her silk skirts with a chubby hand. "I want to sit with you, Mama." He announced. "Can I?" Without waiting for her response, he climbed onto her knee, settling himself in her lap and smiling when he felt her arm wrap gently around his waist.

It was fitting that the Prince of Wales should have his own throne, by the side of the King but this was Harry's favourite throne; his Mama's lap, and it was there he sat as he watched, with bated breath, as his uncle rode in the lists against Sir Henry Norris, easily unhorsing the other man.

Elizabeth sprang to her feet, applauding excitedly, delighted that her champion had acquitted himself so well.

"It must be your favour that brought him such good luck, sweetheart." Henry told her affectionately, receiving a warm smile of thanks for the compliment.

Harry tugged at Anne's sleeve to get her attention, pointing at the blue silk ribbon twined around her wrist. "Who's going to wear your favour?" He asked curiously, looking at each of his parents in turn for an explanation. If the knights taking part in the joust had to ask for the favours of lovely ladies, he couldn't understand why none of them had asked to be permitted to wear his Mama's favour. "You're the beautifullest lady here." His Mama smiled, kissing him for the compliment but she didn't answer his question. He looked up at his Papa, wondering if he was going to surprise them by riding in the lists himself today and if the other knights had decided that he ought to be the one who wore the Queen's favour. "Will you joust, Papa?"

Henry looked discomfited by his small son's innocent query, his face shadowed in a frown as he remembered the days when he was the hero of the lists, one of the best jousters at court, if not the very best, and one who was rarely unhorsed. He didn't win just because he was the King and because his courtiers would not dare to beat him for fear that he would be angry with them if they did; he was a sportsman and he would much rather earn a hard-won victory or even suffer a defeat against a worthy opponent than to play against an opponent who could never hope to offer him a challenge or, worst of all, have another man _allow_ himself to be defeated in the hopes of pleasing him. Even if his opponents thought him unaware of the fact that they mightn't be trying their best, spectators were not easily fooled and Henry would never have been able to bear the thought that they might be mocking him behind his back.

That time was over now.

The injury he had sustained during his last joust still troubled him.

On that ill-fated day, he decided against asking Anne for her favour, which she would have been eager to give him even though she would not be attending for fear that the excitement would harm their unborn son, despite knowing that it was a deliberate snub and that she was likely to be hurt and humiliated by it, and he sought out Jane instead, beseeching to be allowed to wear the scrap of ribbon she carried when he jousted, a token that he could not wear tied to his lance or proudly displayed on his helmet and which had had to be tucked away under the breastplate of his armour, just in case somebody might see it, recognize it and leap to the conclusion that Jane was his mistress.

When he recovered, he had believed that Jane's favour had saved him from dying but since then, especially on days when his leg troubled him, he wondered whether he might have been spared the humiliation of the fall and the injury he had suffered if he had worn Anne's favour instead.

He had paid a heavy price for that day and it was a price that he was continuing to pay.

_Dr Linacre was a skilled physician and his touch was gentle as he tended to the injured leg but Henry did not miss his frown when he probed the wound._

_"What is it?" He asked, worried._

_Dr Linacre didn't want to answer but he had no choice. "Because of the fall, this old wound on your leg has reopened." He explained gently, indicating the dark gash on Henry's leg, unable to hide his concern at the sight of it. "An ulcer has formed."_

_"Can you heal it?" Although he could be considerate and tender to his wife and to his daughters when they were sick, Henry had an abhorrence of disease or injury in himself and the thought of an ulcer chilled him. Ulcers were for old, unhealthy men, not a King in the prime of his life._

_Linacre nodded. "Most certainly, Your Majesty, but you must wear a dressing and have the leg bound up." He busied himself with his medical supplies for a few moments before turning back, his duty to his patient warring with the deference that patient was due as King. "If Your Majesty will forgive me offering advice?" Henry nodded, indicating that he should continue. "Though Your Majesty is still a young man, you are not as young as you used to be. In those days, you could joust a whole day and not feel the effect, but now…" He trailed off, not daring to continue._

_Henry, despite his best efforts not to, had been thinking along similar lines but that did not make it easier to her another man voice the unpleasant thought. "Are you advising me not to joust?" Dr Linacre hesitated, reluctant to say any more. That was all the answer Henry should have needed but he still pressed, albeit more gently this time. "I am asking if that is your advice."_

_"That is my professional advice." Dr Linacre said firmly, before softening. "And since I have a great care for Your Majesty, it is my personal advice too."_

_A part of Henry wanted to be angry with him, to rage at Dr Linacre for presuming to tell his King what he ought to do but he couldn't. Linacre was doing no more than his duty, explaining an unpleasant fact because it was his duty as a royal physician to have a care for Henry's person and because his personal loyalty to him ensured that he would want to ensure his safety and wellbeing._

_The carefree days of his youth had passed, almost without him realizing it. He had lost so many years, first when he was tied to Katherine, a woman a decade his senior, bound to a wife who was almost barren and then, even when he found Anne, the woman who held his destiny, and tried to free himself to be with her, the struggle had stolen more years of his life._

_When he looked in the mirror, he did not see an old man looking back at him, not yet… but he did not see a young man either._

_He was no longer the high-spirited prince beloved by the people and by the courtiers, all of whom happily anticipated the day when he would succeed his dour, miserly father. He was no longer the young King who had inherited the wealth, prestige and power of a monarch at an age when most boys his age were still chafing under their fathers' restrictions. He was no longer a golden ruler, the handsomest Prince in Christendom, with everything ahead of him._

_Like his days of jousting, the days of his youth were over._

Harry, unaware of the reasons for his father's silence and too young to be able to realize that his question was a troubling one for him, waited expectantly for an answer, ignoring even his Mama's attempts to distract him.

For his son's sake, Henry forced himself to smile but it did not reach his eyes. He extended his arms, lifting Harry from Anne's lap and sitting him on his own knee. "I'm not going to be jousting, Harry." He said quietly.

"Why?"

"I don't joust any more. I used to when I was younger."

"But Sir Henry is older than you!" Harry objected, pointing to Henry Norris who, despite his title as Baron, was still addressed as Sir Henry, more often than not. "He still jousts."

"Yes, he does." Henry agreed, glancing in Norris' direction and feeling a stab of envy. When they were younger, he and Norris jousted against one another many times and were fairly evenly matched and now, despite the fact that Norris was past forty, he still enjoyed jousting and, as a general rule, acquitted himself well in the lists while Henry, despite being younger, was condemned to sit on the sidelines, relegated to the role of spectator.

"So why don't you?" Harry persisted.

Henry was quiet for a few minutes and, when he finally spoke, he looked into Anne's eyes. "There were a great many things that I used to do," he said reflectively, knowing that even though the implication would escape little Harry, Anne would understand that he was not just talking about jousting. "But when you were born – before you were born," he corrected himself, thinking that even if he had slipped with Jane while Anne was bringing Harry into the world, he _had_ resolved to change his ways before that, "I realized that I could no longer behave as I used to."

And he hadn't.

Other men might consider that there was no reason why a King should take a mistress if he so chose, that it might even be healthier for him to do so but Henry was certain that he was doing the right thing by controlling his urges, directing his affections at Anne instead of taking the risk of hurting her again by showing favour to another woman. He was still a normal man, of course, and there were still times when a pretty young woman would catch his eye and he would be tempted to resume his old ways but he had not; even if he wanted to, his leg served as a reminder of why he should not, and it seemed to ache whenever he was tempted to stray, as though God had sent him the injury to help him be a faithful husband.

"But Mama has no champion to ride for her." Harry pointed out, looking at Anne and wondering if she was sad that nobody was wearing her favour.

"I don't need one." Anne assured him, meeting Henry's eyes and smiling at him. "I'm happy to have Papa here with me."

Harry considered her words, nodding comprehension but he wasn't entirely satisfied with the situation. He stood up, balancing on his father's knee, with Henry's hand steadying him as he leaned over to put his arms around Anne's neck and kiss her cheek.

"When I am a man, I'll joust like the knights do and I'll wear your favour." He promised solemnly.

"When you're a man, you'll have a wife of your own and you'll want to wear her favour." Elizabeth predicted, her tone betraying an older sister's condescension. As younger brothers went, Harry was sweet and funny and could be a fine playmate but he said such silly things sometimes!

"No." Harry shook his head immediately. "Mama's. I'll be her champion and I'll win everything for her."

"Will you?" Henry asked, feeling envious of the little boy for an absurd moment.

"Yes." Harry nodded firmly, his small jaw set in determination.

"Well," Henry began, lifting his son from his knee so that he could stand, signalling so that the next pair of jousters should wait before they began, "in that case, I think that you're going to need to start practicing with your birthday present."

"What's my present?" Harry asked, clapping his hands in excitement.

Henry grinned. "We were going to wait until after the jousting to give it to you," he explained, balancing his son in one arm and grinning at his obvious delight. He waved for a liveried groom to approach and Harry's eyes became impossibly wide when he saw that the groom was leading a small, black pony and he bounced in his father's arms. "Careful!" Henry cautioned, half-afraid that he would drop the little boy if he kept on wriggling. The groom bowed deeply, holding the pony steady while Henry approached the railing, leaning over to sit Harry on the tiny saddle, surveying him proudly. "If you're going to be your mother's champion when you're older, you'll need to start learning to ride as soon as possible."

"I'll learn very fast." Harry promised, leaning forward to pat his pony's mane before beaming up at his parents and sister. "Thank you!"

"Just be careful." Anne warned him involuntarily, torn between pride and fear at the sight of Harry balancing on the back of his pony, unable to shake the fear that he might take a tumble and be hurt, or worse, the same fear she experienced when Elizabeth was old enough for her first pony. For both children, she quizzed the grooms relentlessly about the ponies they brought for her approval, until she was satisfied that they were as gentle and steady as any pony could possibly be, docile enough to be trusted to carry her little ones, at least until they were older and could manage proper mounts. She and Henry were equally exacting when it came to choosing the man who would teach their children how to ride.

"I will, Mama." Harry vowed, sitting up straight in the saddle to show her that he was a big boy now, big enough to be trusted to ride his very own pony without falling off. He knew that he wasn't big enough for the jousts, not yet, but in the meantime, he was thrilled when the groom began to lead his pony in a slow walk around the jousting grounds, especially when the people watching began to applaud, happy to see that their Prince of Wales was so grown up.

Henry returned to Anne's side, taking her hand in his. "He'll be fine, sweetheart, I promise." He told her kindly, knowing that, as a mother, it was a big moment for her to see her little son reach this milestone. He watched proudly as Harry and his pony were led around. "He's already got a good seat, look – he'll be a fine horseman before he's much older." He predicted cheerfully, imagining what it would be like when, in a few years time, Harry and Elizabeth would be able to ride with them when they went hunting.

"I can't believe that he's this old already." She remarked quietly, thinking that Nan was right that it didn't seem like three years since Harry was born. Her emotions were mixed as she watched, her pride in the small boy warring with grief for the fact that Harry was no longer her baby.

"Mama! Mama! Watch me!" Harry cried out as he rode, letting go of the reins with one hand in order to wave to her, needing to know that she was watching and that she was impressed.

She wouldn't have disappointed him for the world so she smiled as he rode past her, returning his wave. This was Harry's moment, not one to be spoiled by her fears or her regrets over how fast he was growing up.

"I'm watching, my darling." She promised him, smiling widely. "I'm watching."


	21. Chapter Twenty

**_11th June 1539_ **

The young girl in front of him was nineteen years old, at least according to Lady Margaret Forester, but she was short and slightly built, so much so that she looked to be no more than fifteen, perhaps sixteen. Her fair hair was scraped back in a plain linen cap and her face was tear-stained and swollen from hours of weeping, if not days, terrified. She was aware of the magnitude of what she had done and she was badly frightened now, called upon to answer for her actions before no less a person than the Lord Chancellor of England himself.

Sir William had turned his study over to Cromwell for as long as he had need of it and he sat behind the large, heavy desk now, his hands folded in front of him as he regarded the girl with an inscrutable expression on his face, calmly waiting for her crying to subside before he spoke. When her tears were spent, he fished a neatly folded handkerchief out of his pocket and set it on the desk in front of him, indicating for her to take it.

"Thank you, my lord." She bobbed a deep curtsey, gratefully accepting the handkerchief and scrubbing away her tears, grateful for the act of kindness, however small it was.

Cromwell could imagine that she had seen little kindness over the past few days, since she was caught out in an act that could be construed as treasonous, the report of which had brought him to this place to investigate the matter personally, as though he had nothing more important to do than to travel down to the More in haste to interview a thoughtless servant. However, he set out as soon as he received the report from Sir William who, as always, was anxious to ensure that he remained vigilant in his duties as the Lady Mary's keeper, alert for any sign of treason within the small household and ready to report it so that it could be dealt with as soon as possible.

Under other circumstances, he would have contented himself with writing a stern letter of reprimand to the Lady Mary, discreetly reminding her that her position was an uncertain one and that she was not going to improve her lot by blatantly flouting the King's express commands, quite the reverse, and sending another letter to Sir William, instructing that the erring servant should be sent away at once and forbidden to return to the More on pain of immediate arrest and imprisonment, as a precaution to guard against a similar incident in the future. However, under the circumstances, he deemed it best to tread on the side of caution and to come here to investigate, just to make sure that there was nothing more to this incident than met the eye.

Looking at the girl in front of him, he was certain that this incident was a trifling one, not one that should have been ignored, of course – he did not fault Sir William for sending word to him – but not one that required a more thorough investigation. However, although it was not strictly necessary, he decided that he would conduct an enquiry in any case, so that if the King should ask for a report of what had happened at the More, something that was admittedly unlikely, he would be able to give him a thorough account of what had happened and of the measures he had taken.

"Mistress Brown... Susan, is it?" He began. His tone was not friendly but it was not unkind either and Susan bobbed another curtsey as she nodded confirmation. He glanced down at the parchment containing his notes, although he already knew everything that was written there. "And you have been a maidservant at the More for the past three years or more?" Another nod. "What is the name of your mistress?"

Susan looked taken aback by the question, gaping at him as though she was astonished that he did not know this already. "I serve the Lady Mary, sir, the King's daughter."

Cromwell raised an eyebrow, as though astonished by her response. "The Lady Mary..." He repeated slowly. "But that is not the name that Lady Margaret heard you addressing your mistress by. She reports that she has heard you address the Lady Mary as 'Princess' and as 'Your Grace' and, as you might imagine, she was surprised to hear you say such a thing, as I was surprised when the matter was reported to me. Is she mistaken – the truth, please? I should warn you that a lie will profit you nothing." He added severely, frowning sternly at her and wondering how it had come to pass that the Lord Chancellor of England, the King's right hand man, should be dragged away from the affairs of state that occupied virtually every available hour of his time so that he could interrogate a foolish servant girl. The knowledge that during his absence, he would not be able to continue the work of seeing to the closures of the monasteries, dispatching agents so that they could make a full inventory of the assets of the houses marked for closure before the monks received word of their intentions so that they could not attempt to cheat the King's men by hiding away as many items as they believed they could get away with undetected, made his tone sharper and his scowl deeper and Susan's sobs began afresh. "I am waiting for your answer."

"Yes, sir." Susan confessed miserably, twisting the handkerchief around her fingers, afraid to meet his eye. "I didn't mean any harm, I swear it!"

"No harm?" Cromwell frowned reprovingly at her. "Are you unaware that His Majesty's marriage to the Lady Mary's mother was declared invalid by His Grace, the Archbishop of Canterbury? Or that wiser, more learned heads than yours have discovered that your mistress is no trueborn princess but simply an illegitimate daughter of the King, permitted to bear the title of 'Lady' only out of his courtesy and kindness?" As he expected, Susan nodded again, unable to deny that. Everybody in England knew of this and the servants at the More were specifically warned not to forget it when they were appointed to their posts. The Lady Mary was the King's daughter, and as such she was to be treated with respect and a level of deference appropriate to her station and her royal blood, but she was not a princess and she was not to be treated as such. They were all told that and all promised that they would abide by those orders. "And you believed that it would not do any harm if you chose to flout His Majesty's express orders? Were you unaware of the fact that this could be construed as an act of treason on your part? Or of what the penalty for treason is?"

At the mention of the dreaded word, 'treason', the crime for which so many men had died over the past years, Susan ran to his side, flinging herself to her knees at his feet and clutching at his robe with sweaty fingers, despair and pleading stamped on her face as she looked up at him with desperate eyes. "Please, my lord, have mercy! I didn't want to do it, I swear it, I..."

Knowing that he would have to tread gently if he wanted to get the full story and avoid scaring the girl out of her wits, Cromwell gentled his tone. "I believe you when you say that you did not wish to disobey the King's orders, Susan." He said quietly, gently but firmly detaching her fingers from his robe and grimacing when he saw that she had left them creased and slightly damp with perspiration where she had been holding them. "You are a good and loyal English subject, are you not? You have taken the Oath, and your family too?" He already knew the answer to that question. None of the servants at the More would have been given a position there if this was not the case. It would have been foolish to risk having anybody who might sympathize with the Lady Mary attending on her, even in exile – perhaps especially in exile. Perhaps the Lady Mary was foolish enough to believe that she had nothing more to lose with her defiance.

"Yes, sir – most willingly."

Cromwell gave her a thin smile. "I have no doubt of that... nor do I doubt that it was not you who chose to defy His Majesty's orders. Why would you? If I am not greatly mistaken, it was your mistress who urged you to address her by these forbidden titles, am I correct?"

Susan nodded fervently, relieved to have the truth out in the open. "I didn't dare to disobey her, my lord – she is the King's own daughter and my mistress." She admitted, blushing in embarrassment, devoutly wishing that she had been able to stand firm against Mary's requests rather than yielding for the sake of peace.

Cromwell nodded. He had suspected something like that. A few minutes' acquaintance with Susan Brown and he was certain that she would never have dared to so blatantly flout the law, she was a weak character, easily led and he could imagine that the Lady Mary, who was so determined and so stubborn, strong-willed and brought up to think of herself as the Princess of Wales and as the heir to the throne, had been able to impose her will on her unfortunate maid, coaxing or bullying the girl into addressing her as she believed she should be addressed.

It was a relief to know that there was nothing more serious than this going on but, even though he knew what the answer would be, Cromwell continued with the list of prepared questions, just in case the Lady Mary had been able to influence her servant even more than he thought she was.

"Have you ever delivered a letter or message from the Lady Mary, in secret, to anybody without the knowledge and consent of Sir William?"

"No, sir." The answer was prompt and, in Cromwell's opinion, honest, but the faint colour in Susan's cheeks told him that there was something more to the issue.

"Has the Lady Mary ever _asked_ you to carry a secret letter or message for her?" He pressed shrewdly, receiving a reluctant nod in response. "But you refused." He surmised, a hint of approval in his tone, his words eliciting another nod, more enthusiastic this time. "I am pleased to hear it. Did the Lady Mary often make such requests of you, Susan?"

"She only asked me the once, my lord." Susan assured him. "She wanted me to help her send a letter to the King, her father, but I told her that though I was honoured to serve her, I could never deliver any messages for her, not without permission from Sir William. His Majesty had said that she was not to be permitted to send any letters and I told the Lady Mary that I couldn't disobey that order."

"Even though you were willing to disobey His Majesty's orders regarding the Lady Mary's title." Cromwell's cold observation made Susan's cheeks flush with embarrassment but he did not dwell on the issue, satisfied that she had been honest with her observations and very glad of it. If the girl had delivered any letters from the Lady Mary, or carried any messages, written or spoken, then the King would have to be told that his daughter had managed to evade her jailers and his rage would be furious. While Cromwell, together with Sir William, would attract some of the King's anger for failing to keep his daughter under closer guard, it would be the Lady Mary herself who would attract most of his wrath.

She was such a fool to make matters worse for herself!

"Very well, Susan, I believe you." He said at last, motioning for her to stand and indicating a spot in front of the desk. Stand there, please." He rang a bell and a servant appeared promptly – so promptly that Cromwell suspected that he had been waiting outside, listening to what was happening within the study. "Ask your master to escort the Lady Mary down to see me." He instructed. Strictly speaking, he should have been referring to the Lady Mary as mistress of the More, and sending a message to her requesting her presence rather than commanding her to appear but, under the circumstances, he was not going to pander to the girl's vanity and indulge her in her sense of superiority.

She was the King's daughter but she was also here at the More because she had been foolish enough to involve herself in an attempt on the Queen's life. If she did not have the sense to be thankful for the mercy she was shown when the King decided not to have her arrested and executed for her crimes, as her accomplices were, if she was so obstinate that she refused all advice offered to her on how she could improve her situation, then she did not deserve to be honoured.

After a few moments, Lady Margaret appeared with the Lady Mary in tow. Now twenty-one, Mary had not altered in height but her features had hardened, making her look older than her years. Her gown was black and of a severe cut but it was made of rich fabric and had clearly been sewn by a skilled hand. The King was reasonably generous in terms of her dress allowance, more generous than he had been when she was first sent to live at Hatfield and act as an attendant to the Princess Elizabeth. She wore no jewellery, apart from a gold cross that Cromwell recognized as having belonged to her mother. When the Princess Dowager died, he had gone through her jewellery personally, in order to ensure that the lady had not defied the King's express orders and retained any of the official jewels of the Queens of England, jewels that belonged to Queen Anne by rights, trying to send them on to her daughter now that she was dead, and only sent the few pieces to Hatfield and to the Lady Mary once he was satisfied that they were her mother's own property, hers to dispose of as she saw fit.

"Master Cromwell." Lady Mary's curtsey was little more than a bend of the knee and she stood before him with her head held high, one corner of her mouth curving in a disapproving expression for a moment, offended by his failure to stand when she entered and greet her with the courtesy she was accustomed to, even in exile.

"Lady Mary." Cromwell's tone was clipped as he addressed her. He did not invite her to sit, not yet, leaving her to stand in front of him as though she was his inferior before he turned to Susan, asking the final questions on his list, questions he chose to wait before asking, so that the girl could give her response in her mistress' presence. "Before you leave, Mistress Brown, there are some questions that I must ask of you. Who is the Supreme Head of the Church in England?"

"His Majesty the King, my lord." Susan responded promptly, relieved by the thought that her ordeal would soon be over and willing to say whatever he wanted her to say if it meant that she wasn't to be arrested.

"And can you tell me the name of the true, rightful Queen of England?" Out of the corner of his eye, Cromwell saw Mary stiffen at this, well able to guess where he was going with this, but she didn't say anything and he ignored her, keeping his gaze on Susan.

"Queen Anne, my lord, Lady Anne Boleyn as was." Susan told him, sounding almost like a child who had learned her lesson by heart, who hoped for praise if she was able to answer correctly and who feared a whipping if she did not.

"Excellent." Cromwell nodded his approval. "And who is the heir to the throne?"

"The Prince of Wales, of course, my lord, little Prince Harry." Susan paused for a moment, wondering if this would suffice or if she should continue. "And then the Princess Elizabeth – unless the Queen should bear the King another son, naturally." She amended, before hastily adding. "I pray that she will, many, many healthy princes!"

Cromwell gave her a thin smile. "I am sure that Her Majesty would be pleased to know that she is in your thoughts and your prayers. Now, I have just one more question for you. Look at your mistress – go on, look at her," he urged, when she seemed reluctant to obey his command. He waited until she had turned to look at Mary before he asked his final question, his attention focused on Mary's reaction rather than Susan's words. "Can you tell me who your mistress is?"

Susan swallowed before speaking, reluctant to offend the Lady Mary, who had been a kind mistress to her, but afraid that if she did not give Cromwell the answer he plainly sought, she would undo all of her previous good work and that she might be arrested and taken away to the Tower, as Lady Margaret told her might be the case when she scolded her for daring to address the Lady Mary with the titles reserved for a trueborn princess and told her that the Lord Chancellor himself would have to be informed. "She is the Lady Mary, my lord... the King's bastard daughter."

Mary didn't allow herself to react to this, keeping her gaze fixed at a point behind Cromwell's shoulder and refusing to meet his eyes or Susan's. Cromwell could insult her all he liked, he could bully her servants into insulting her but he couldn't change the truth. The pope himself had pronounced her parents' marriage valid and its issue legitimate. She was a princess and the sole rightful heir to the English throne. That was her birthright and they couldn't take it away from her.

They were fools if they believed that they ever would.

Cromwell waited until Lady Margaret had escorted Susan out of the study before he spoke again, motioning towards one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Have a seat, Lady Mary." He invited in a cool tone.

He clearly had no intention of holding out the chair and helping to seat her, or even of rising to his feet while she sat, as courtesy would have demanded of a gentleman in the presence of a lady – any lady. Under other circumstances, Mary might have been put out by his rudeness but she had learned not to expect better from her father's Lord Chancellor, learned to ignore such slights, so she sat down, meeting his gaze.

"The girl will be dismissed, of course," he informed her blandly. "Sir William and Lady Margaret will select another maid to attend you, somebody who can be trusted to remain loyal and not to allow herself to be led into disobeying His Majesty's orders. Until a suitable replacement can be found, you must make do without a personal attendant." He did not apologize for the inconvenience that the lack of a maid would undoubtedly cause her. She had only herself to blame for the fact that Susan had had to be dismissed and he felt that having to go without the services of a personal maid for a few weeks would be a good punishment for her, one that might make her more inclined to appreciate that she was being treated more generously than she had a right to expect to be.

Mary refused to betray any disappointment or dismay at this, despite the fact that she knew that her keepers would undoubtedly take a long time to choose a suitable maid for her, wanting to ensure that this time, they selected somebody strong-willed enough not to give in to her insistence that even if nobody else at the More used it, she should be addressed by her correct title in her own rooms, afraid that they would find themselves in trouble if there was another incident. Her father, his concubine and his chancellor were unlikely to be so lenient the next time.

It would be an inconvenience to be deprived of Susan's assistance when it came to dressing and to arranging her hair, tasks that ladies of rank were seldom called upon to perform by themselves – even ladies-in-waiting and maids of honour at the court were all entitled to keep at least one maidservant of their own to tend to their personal needs; it would be utterly unthinkable to deprive a princess of that right – and Mary was going to miss the girl's company. During her years at the More, Susan had been the closest thing she had to a friend but while she regretted that she was going to lose her position, she didn't – she _couldn't_ – regret the act that had led to it.

She was the Princess of Wales by birthright and she could not regret insisting on those rights.

If her father, Anne and his councillors insisted on reacting to the fact that she would not docilely accept the lowered status that they had decreed should be hers, if they could not stomach the fact that she knew that she was a princess and that she refused to answer to the name of bastard, if they insisted on punishing a timid maidservant for addressing her by her rightful title, then that was _their_ affair, not _hers_.

Cromwell surveyed her in silence for a few minutes, a half-exasperated, half-pitying expression on his face. "I do not understand why you insist on making things so much more difficult for yourself, Lady Mary." He said quietly.

" _Princess_ Mary."

"I beg your pardon?" He asked, lifting an eyebrow, as if in surprise, although he knew exactly what she was going to say before she opened her mouth again.

"Princess Mary or Your Highness." She maintained obstinately, fed up with being treated this way and in no temper to silently accept the insult of a bastard's title, not from this man, who had risen to power largely due to the work he had done in twisting the law in order to give her father the justification he sought to set her mother aside. "His Holiness, Pope Paul, decreed that the marriage of the King, my father, and my mother, Queen Katherine was a lawful one and that its issue is legitimate. I am the Princess of Wales, the true and legitimate heir to the throne, and you will address me by my correct title."

"You are a bastard – an ungrateful, disloyal bastard at that – and what you have just said is treason." Cromwell told her bluntly. "The verdict of the Bishop of Rome has no bearing in this country, as you well know. The Archbishop of Canterbury himself investigated the supposed marriage of His Majesty the King and the Princess Dowager of Wales and pronounced it null and void, declaring that its issue – yourself, Lady Mary – to be illegitimate, entitled to neither the title of Princess of England or to be included in the line of succession to the throne. This verdict was accepted by the King, by his Privy Council and by Parliament. It is the only verdict that is relevant under English law and the sooner you swallow your pride and learn to accept it, the better things will be for you." He sighed, gentling his tone, hoping to persuade her. "Take the Oath, Lady Mary. I believe that I can guarantee that if you do, if you prove that you are loyal and that you repent for your past wrongs, the King will be overjoyed to see that you have come to your senses and he and Queen Anne will be prepared to allow you to return to court."

Mary bit her lip, afraid that if she allowed herself to speak, she might give in to the temptation to yield. She thought that she might have given in, but for the fact that Cromwell had mentioned Anne's name. The thought of being reunited with her father, the man she had adored as a child but only seen once since he banished her mother from the court, and then only fleetingly, of being welcomed back to court and into his heart once more was a tempting one and only the fact that yielding would mean that Anne would triumph allowed her to keep silent.

But she came so close to saying 'yes'!

"Even if you are not brought back to court, at the very least, it will win you your freedom; you will be able to leave the More for a more comfortable residence, and the King would be prepared to pay for a larger household, one over which you would be mistress in fact instead of just in name, and provide you with a very generous allowance, one more than sufficient for your needs." Cromwell continued in a coaxing tone.

At this point, he felt that he needed to be able to bring the King news of his daughter's submission, perhaps even more than Mary needed the comforts that she would be granted if she would only give in. He was aware of the fact that the court was a slippery place, and that the higher a man rose, the more people who sought to drag him down in order to further their own ambitions. At any time, he could name a dozen men at least who would have sold their own mothers if it meant that they could take his place as Chancellor, men who would gladly have stabbed him in the back if it meant that they could use his corpse to help them climb higher. He was still trusted by the King, and his counsel was still needed and sought but he was no fool and he could feel that the ice beneath his feet was beginning to thin and crack, and knew that it might not take much for it to give way, leaving him to drown, as other, once-powerful men had before him when they fell from grace.

If he could be the man who was able to go to the King and tell him that the Lady Mary had yielded at last, if he could be the man who persuaded the obstinate young woman sitting in front of him to honour the duty of obedience she owed both as the King's daughter and as his subject, then he would have his master's gratitude and that would keep him safe, at least for a while longer.

Even Queen Anne would be thankful to know that her stepdaughter had finally yielded, owning herself to be a bastard, because her submission would help to secure the Prince of Wales' place as his father's rightful heir.

Much to his disappointment, however, the young woman in front of him shook her head resolutely, determined never to yield, regardless of the cost.

"You are a fool, Lady Mary, an obstinate fool." He remarked sourly, torn between admiration for the young woman for holding fast to her principles, even when so many others had given in in order to save themselves from a traitor's death, and exasperation over her obstinacy, her refusal to yield even though every man and woman with sense knew that there was no hope of her restoration to the succession, under any circumstances, and no hope of her return to her father's favour without her submission to his will. She was courting danger with her continued refusals and she did not seem to care. "I pray that you will not have to pay for it with your life."

* * *

When he was a boy, George remembered Hever Castle as a place of constant activity, with servants bustling about their business, each with his or her appointed tasks, almost always cheerful and obliging but, when he rode in today, the courtyard was deserted. When a groom appeared a few minutes later to tend to his horse, the youth gave him only the most distracted of greetings before hurriedly leading the animal away.

Irritated, he entered the castle, thankful that he had managed to persuade Anne that it was not necessary for her to accompany him on this visit, to see Jane who was confined to Hever for the duration of her pregnancy, and to see her little niece, as she had suggested when she heard that he intended to make the journey. Clearly, the servants were in no way prepared to have a proper welcome ready for the son of their master, let alone the Queen of England, and his father would have been livid if Anne and her entourage were met with anything less than the hospitality a royal visit deserved and demanded. Even if half the servants could remember Anne as a mischievous little girl and some of them very probably still thought of her as a child rather than as a woman, let alone as their Queen, he would not accept that as an excuse for a failure to greet her appropriately, especially when that failure would reflect badly on him.

He was coming very close to losing his temper and bellowing for the steward, to find out what was happening and why they were so lax in greeting him when he saw a sight that had never once failed to make him melt; his daughter.

Nell spotted him a moment after he saw her, tugging her chubby hand out of her nurse's grasp and running towards him as fast as her short, plump legs could carry her. "Papa! Papa! Lift me up!" She demanded imperiously, chuckling in delight as he swept her up and spun her around.

George kissed the chubby, rosy cheek, grinning. "How's my girl? Are you well?"

Nell nodded, her black curls bouncing and her blue eyes sparkling with delight at the sight of her adored father. "Very well," she assured him, before frowning, suddenly sombre. "But Mama is very sick."

"Sick?" George raised his eyebrow in surprise. There hadn't been any message sent to him indicating that Jane might be ill.

"She was screaming last night and before breakfast." Nell told him, clearly troubled by the thought. "Lots and lots. They didn't let me see her."

A moment later, George smiled, realizing what the toddler was referring to. The baby wasn't due for another couple of weeks but it wasn't early enough for there to be any risk. "Then you might have a brother before the end of the day." He said cheerfully. To his surprise, Nell didn't return his smile. She gazed back up at him with a solemn, sullen expression that didn't suit her childish features. "What is it, sweetheart?" He asked.

"I don't want a brother." She pouted.

"Why not? Don't you think that it would be nice to have a baby brother to play with?"

"No." Nell insisted stubbornly. "You'll like him more than me." She stated flatly, her envy towards her unborn sibling plain.

"Who told you that?" Nell didn't answer but George could guess; all of the servants at Hever were surely well aware of the fact that his father was anxious for a grandson from him and Jane, and that they would assume that he felt the same way. He was furious with them for saying something like that in Nell's hearing. Although his daughter was still a couple of months away from her second birthday, she was a bright, observant child, one who understood and remembered far more of what she heard than most of her elders gave her credit for. "Well, they're wrong." He told her firmly. "You're my special girl and you always will be."

"Promise?"

"I promise." George vowed solemnly, sealing his promise with a kiss on her cheek before setting her on her feet and taking her by the hand, motioning for the nursemaid and handing Nell over to her. "I'll see you later, sweetheart." He promised, ruffling the black curls as she was led away, her nursemaid eager to bring her out into the gardens, away from the castle where her mother was giving birth.

He had never expected to be a doting father. For him, the prospect of a child meant that he was going to be free from the fear that Jane might speak out about his affair with Smeaton, should she ever suspect that his feelings towards the other man were unchanged.

Once Nell was born, he could be sure that Jane would never dare to say a word.

_"She's so beautiful!" Jane's expression was awed as she looked down at her newborn daughter but her smile became impossibly wide as she watched George place his finger next to one of the tiny hands to allow the baby to clutch it tightly. This was what she had wanted when she married; a kind husband and a child she could love._

_"What should we call her?" George asked. They had known that if the baby was a boy, he would have to be called Thomas in honour of his grandfather but they had never even discussed the question of a girl's name, as though by doing so they might jinx themselves and ensure that the child would be born female._

_"Anne, for the Queen?" Jane suggested immediately, her desire to please him with the choice written all over her face. She knew how fond he was of his younger sister and assumed that he would want their daughter to have her name._

_George shook his head slightly, with a wry chuckle. "Another Anne Boleyn? I don't think that England would soon get over that! Beside, Mary's girl is already named Anne. We can't have Mary either," he added thoughtfully, knowing that despite the fact that it was his own sister's name and Anne herself would certainly understand if they chose to bestow the name on their baby, it would be rumoured that the child had been named in honour of the Lady Mary rather than her aunt, Mary Stafford, that the Queen's own family sympathized with the former princess and they didn't want that. Looking down at the baby in Jane's arms, he decided that he didn't want to name her after a relative – any of them. She should have her own name. "Eleanor." It had a ring to it._

_"That's pretty." Jane agreed with a wide smile, although George suspected that she would have said the same thing, regardless of what name he had suggested. Most men would probably be thrilled if their wives were as eager to please as Jane was but George found it more irritating than pleasant. He would never have wanted a volatile wife, one of a similar temperament to Anne, who had led the King a merry dance during their courtship and made life difficult for herself after the wedding, until she learned to control her emotions, but surely it did not need to be one extreme or the other._

_He bent down to lift the swaddled baby from the crook of Jane's arm, smiling when she gazed up at him with curious, cornflower blue eyes. "She'll be pretty." He predicted, touching one of the soft cheeks, feeling a surge of love and protectiveness towards his tiny daughter, and even some affection for Jane, who had given her to him. He almost hated to continue with the short speech he had rehearsed before the birth... "Lady Eleanor Boleyn," he began, laying a gentle stress on the infant's title, a title that his ancestors surely would not have expected one of their descendants to bear. Her great-great-grandfather was a merchant, did you know?" His father would throttle him if he knew that he was speaking of the less than exalted origins of the family, origins that he usually tried to downplay, but, for now, it served his purpose, illustrating how far the family had come... and how far they could so easily fall. "He was the mayor of London, and just look at his descendant. Daughter of the Earl of Ormonde, granddaughter of the Duke of Wiltshire and niece of the Queen of England. Her future should be a glorious one." Jane smiled at this, pleased by the thought of the happy future she could anticipate for her child but that smile was quickly wiped off her face by his next words. "But she could be ruined, so easily. Her future and her fortune are tied to her family, like everybody's, especially her father and mother. Any breath of scandal, any taint on our name, and our daughter will be ruined, along with the rest of us. Even her aunt couldn't save her." He glanced at Jane, seeing that she had taken his full meaning._

_She wouldn't say a word now, not when baby Eleanor's future was tied to that of her father._

_His daughter had made him safe._

_He placed the baby back in her arms, bidding her a hasty farewell and hastening out of the room, not wanting to see the tears begin to flow..._

Most men of his station saw little of their children, particularly during their earliest years, but Nell was impossible to ignore. He was drawn to her, spending hours playing with her in the nursery or in the gardens whenever he was at Hever, and visiting there more often than he had originally intended to when he first sent Jane there. Mary had smiled when she told him that since Nell was the first daughter, she wasn't surprised that she was her papa's pet, saying that her Will was the same with their daughter Annie, but George wasn't satisfied with that explanation.

 _His_ daughter was special, he knew it.

Nell had said that her mother was screaming this morning, so as George mounted the stairs towards his wife's bedchamber, he expected to be able to hear Jane yelling at the top of her lungs as she brought their second child – hopefully their son, or they would never hear the end of it from his father – into the world but, although he could hear the sound of running footsteps, together with the sloshing of liquid as basins of hot water were toted into the room and occasional exclamations, he couldn't hear anything from Jane.

When he walked down the gallery leading to his wife's bedchamber, he knew why the rest of the castle was so deserted; every servant in the place seemed to be hovering outside the door, anxiously waiting to see if there was something they could do to help. Since she left the court and came to live at Hever before Nell was born, Jane had achieved a measure of popularity among the servants, who considered her to be a fair mistress, easy to serve, never unjust and always generous with her praise and gratitude when it was merited.

It wasn't surprising that they would want to help but George was still troubled by the sombre expressions on their faces. Even from a distance, he could see the worry etched on their features.

He cleared his throat, the sound prompting the servants to straighten up and bow or curtsey to him, while the steward hurried forward, murmuring apologies for the fact that they had not been properly prepared for his arrival, promising that if he had known of the visit, he would have seen to it that they were ready to properly welcome him.

Under other circumstances, George would have snapped at the man, curtly pointing out that as a member of the master's family, he was not obliged to keep them appraised of his movements, that he was free to visit Hever whenever he wanted to, with or without warning, and that he had a right to expect a fitting welcome when he did, pointing out that they were very fortunate that he had not arrived with the Queen of England accompanying him to see how ill-prepared they were, but the grave expression on the man's face silenced him.

"What is going on here?" He asked instead. "Is the baby on his way?"

"Yes, my lord. Lady Ormonde's pains began last night, and we sent for the midwives straight away but there have been some... difficulties. Dr Cowley arrived this morning, and he is in there now."

"I see." George said quietly, absorbing what he had been told. He knew very little about the mysteries of childbirth and had little desire to learn more about the subject but he knew from Anne's confinements that the business was usually left in the hands of midwives and other women, partly to preserve the modesty of the mother to be, partly because it was something that no man would willingly bear witness to, and that a physician would only be summoned as a last resort, if there were problems that the midwives could not cope with by themselves. "I don't hear her." The fact that he couldn't hear Jane yelling was disconcerting, more disconcerting than her screaming could ever be.

The steward didn't say anything by way of response but one of the women servants slipped into the bedchamber, returning presently with Dr Cowley in tow.

"My lord," the man bowed to George.

"What is going on here?" George demanded again, following the physician when he motioned for them to move a few yards away from the other people present, so that they could have some semblance of privacy as they spoke.

"My lord, your wife's labour has been a long, difficult one." Dr Cowley explained rapidly, not wanting to leave his patient's side any longer than he had to. "She is losing a great deal of blood and suffered from convulsions, lapsing into unconsciousness an hour ago. We have not been able to rouse her."

"But she'll be well again, won't she?" George asked, trying to process what he was hearing. He was aware of the fact that it was not uncommon for women to die in childbirth. Women did not fight in wars but they still laid down their lives in childbed every time they sought to give their husbands another baby, not knowing whether they would recover from their ordeal or whether they would lose their lives through loss of blood, or such feared maladies as childbed fever or white leg. However, he had not expected that Jane would be one of the casualties, not when her labour with Nell had been a quick, easy one, one from which she recovered more quickly than most ladies did.

"I will do all I can, but I can make you no promises." Dr Cowley told him sombrely. "Forgive me, my lord, but I must return to her." He said firmly, pulling his arm out of George's grasp and hastening back into the bedchamber, leaving a stunned man in his wake.

He had never wanted Jane to _die_.

He had wanted to be free of her company, that was all, which was why he had sent her to Hever as soon as the opportunity to do so arose – though that had done him little good where Mark was concerned, as Anne had not yet shown any inclination to bring him back to court so that she might enjoy his music again, seemingly content to leave him at Hatfield so that he could continue his duties as music tutor to the children there – but he had not wished her dead, and the thought that she might die in childbirth, that it might be the baby that he had planted within her who would rob her life, was one that filled him with guilt.

If this was how it felt to him, who had never loved his wife, or even liked her very much, he did not want to think how it must feel when a man whose wife was dearly loved died in this way.

It must be unbearable for them.

Jane might not have been the wife of his choice but George was realistic enough to know that he was no more unfortunate than the countless other men who were not allowed to decide where they would wed, whose wives were chosen by their families with an eye to advancement or material gain and, in some ways, he was more fortunate than most. Jane was pretty enough, he would never need to be ashamed of her appearance when he escorted her anywhere, and she wanted to be a good wife to him. She was certainly a devoted mother to their child, never even seeming to resent little Nell over what George had said to her on the day the child was born, despite the fact that she had understood that her love for the child would permanently bridle her tongue, regardless of how hurt she might be over his future actions.

Sensing his need for solitude, none of the servants dared to approach him or to speak to him. They left him to his thoughts, murmuring their own prayers and listening anxiously to the sounds within the birthing chamber, all of them hoping that they would hear Jane's screams recommence, all of them knowing that the longer she remained unconscious, the longer the birth took, the less chance that mother and child would have of coming through the ordeal alive.

Hours passed.

George rode into the courtyard before noon but the sky was dark by the time they heard a thin wail from within the room, the cry of an infant finally pushed into the world. That sound was followed by muttered exclamations, calls for sheets to staunch the flow of blood, stimulants to rouse Jane and other items that Dr Cowley believed might help.

However, despite the fact that the sounds within the room indicated that every possible effort was being made to save her, nobody truly believed that they would succeed, not even George.

When Dr Cowley finally emerged from the room, the defeated expression on his face told its own story, one that nobody present could fail to misinterpret. Several of the servants began to weep openly before he even said a word.

Even the news that the child was a fine, strong son was scant consolation.

Half in a daze, George nodded, muttering something that could have been gratitude for the physician's efforts or relief that at least the child was a boy or nothing at all, and hastening away from the bedchamber before anybody could ask him if he wanted to see his wife or hold his son, glancing at the clock and wondering where his daughter was likely to be at this hour.

What was he supposed to say to Nell?

* * *

Louth Abbey, in Lincolnshire, had been in existence for four hundred years, years during which the Cistercian monks had lived side by side with the local villages in amity. The monks tilled their land, employing upwards of three dozen men from the villages to help them with this. The herbal cures they brewed were invaluable when fevers or infections struck. The monks provided an education to the brightest boys in the village, allowing the most intelligent and the most diligent of them an opportunity to escape a life of hard work on a farm and win himself a job as a clerk or secretary. There were few people in the villages who could not point to a kinsman who was or who had been a monk in the abbey, and they were proud of that.

Other monasteries, those that had been rightly shut down, were hotbeds of vice, where the monks lived lives of pleasure and idleness at the expense of the people who donated money and valuables to them in exchange for their prayers but Louth Abbey was not one of them. The monks lived austerely, spending their days in work and prayer and always honouring the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience that they had made. They were good, honest men who sought only to serve God and there was no need for anybody to interfere with them.

When half a dozen men, all soberly clad in dark tunics had appeared in the village, immediately making their way to the abbey, every man and woman in the village, and even the older children, had known exactly what they were there for.

"They've come to tally how much land there is attached to the Abbey," Seth Bradley stated flatly, "and to see if there's anything of value there. If the Abbey is to be suppressed, then the King and that weasel of his, Master Cromwell, will want to be sure that they get every penny and every acre of land that they can from it."

"You watch your tongue." Another man cautioned him, glancing worriedly around, as though he feared that there might be a spy lurking behind him, ready to report any word said against the King to the authorities, and to inform on every man present for their failure to report it themselves. "You're speaking of the King."

"I'm speaking the truth, and you know it." Bradley maintained obstinately. "I make no quarrel with the King's rightful title as Head of the Church – better that the King of England should govern it, than that we should have to pay our tithes to an Italian bishop," he added, in case any man present thought to question his loyalty to his sovereign, a treasonable offence. "I signed the Oath willingly, we all did." There was a scattered chorus of nods, although they all knew that there had been a few men, in this village and others, who had wrestled with their consciences in the weeks before the King's agents arrived with Bibles on which to take the Oath, together with a list of names, ready to check off those who swore and to place a mark next to the names those who refused. They had all sworn, knowing what the consequences of refusal would be but some had been less willing to sign than others. "His Majesty is right to suppress the bad monasteries but the Abbey has done nothing but good for this village, for hundreds of years. It's not right that the honest, pious monks should be cast onto the side of the road while their land is snatched up by Cromwell. What good will it do then, to anybody except the nobility? We were better off before. We've lost the monasteries and their help but what have we got in return? Nothing!"

There was silence, finally broken by a quiet remark. "My cousin's boy is being educated at one of the Queen's new schools as we speak. Father Hall said that he might be able to find a place there for my own James too. He's a bright lad, if he can get an education, he might make something of himself."

"After my sister and her husband were thrown off their farm by their landlord, they'd have had nowhere to go if it hadn't been for the Queen's people; she gave them a new farm – and they pay a sight less by way of rent for it than I do for my place!" Another man announced, his tone tinged with faint admiration for the Queen and somewhat more prominent envy for his fortunate sister.

"The Queen _is_ trying, and that's more than can be said for most of those advising the King." Bradley admitted begrudgingly. "I've no quarrel with her but as long as that Cromwell has His Majesty's ear, there'll be little that even the Queen can do; she's a woman, after all, and they'll not let her decide policy. For every monastery given to her charge, so that she can put them to some good use, there must be near a hundred that go to the King, or to some rich noble."

This was undeniable, and the chorus of murmured grumbles made it plain that this was a fact that the men present were far from happy about. None of them liked the idea that their Abbey was likely to be sold off to some nobleman, probably for less than it was truly worth if Cromwell wished to win the favour of the buyer, and they all knew that whoever bought the property, they were unlikely to be as generous a landlord or employer as the monks at the Abbey were. If they chose not to farm the land at all, if they decided to turn it into a sheep run or the like, requiring fewer labourers, then many of the men who had depended on the Abbey for employment would suffer.

"I'll tell you this," Bradley said, his tone determined. "I don't care what Cromwell and the King have planned for other monasteries in the country, if they try to close down the Abbey, they'll have to go through me to do it!"

"And me!"

"And me too!"

The first declarations were made more tentatively, with each speaker knowing the enormity of what they were saying, but as more and more people pledged their support, they did so with more confidence.

Even if every other monastery in the country was to be suppressed, they would not allow the same thing to happen to Louth Abbey.


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

**_17th August 1539_ **

Her father had been unwell for some time now.

Over the course of the past year, he seemed to have aged a full decade. His hair was grey and thinning and his face was lined with wrinkles. He had lost weight, his skin stretched thinly over the bones of his face and hands and his nightgowns seemed to be too big for him. Even his eyes, which Jane remembered as always sparkling with wisdom and kindness, were dull, his sight fading.

It was only when Jane brought his favourite grandson, her little Edward, to see him that he seemed to come alive again, insisting that the toddler should sit on the bed next to him while he told him stories and fed him sweetmeats. Sir John especially liked to tell the little boy stories about his father, about how he had ridden with the King in battle against the French, many years ago.

They had never made a secret of the fact that Edward was the King's son. It was not something that either they or the little boy should be ashamed of or something that needed to be kept hidden from him. At two and a half, he was still too young to understand the question of legitimacy, how he could be the son of the King but not the son of the Queen, or why he was called 'Lord' rather than 'Prince', why his name was omitted from the prayers said in churches for the Prince of Wales and for Princess Elizabeth, or why it was that the King had never come to Wolf Hall to visit him.

The King had seen to it that his son was provided for, as befitted a child with royal blood flowing in his veins, even if that child was born on the wrong side of the blanket; through Cromwell, a generous allowance was provided both for Edward and his mother, while the wages of the servants who worked in his nursery were paid by the Privy Purse and for their part, the Seymours made sure to honour the little boy as the King's son at all times, ensuring that he was treated with the dignity his rank demanded, but the King had never paid his son a visit, and had never even sent a messenger to pay his respects to little Edward and to report back to his father on how he was faring.

When little Henry Fitzroy was only a few months older than Edward was now, he and his mother, Lady Blount, were summoned to court at the express invitation of the King so that the little boy could be invested with the titles of Duke of Richmond and of Somerset, and Earl of Nottingham, after which he was given his own establishment, worthy of a prince, but there had been no indication that anything of the kind was to be done for Edward. If the King wished, he could make his son a duke, a marquess or an earl as he chose – Jane would even have been pleased to know that her son was to become a viscount, or even a baron, anything that would show that the King loved their little son and wished to honour him – but it seemed that he was content to leave his son as plain Lord Edward Fitzroy.

Edward might have been better situated than his eldest half-sister, the unfortunate Lady Mary, who was still being kept as a prisoner at the More, but neither Jane nor her family believed that it was right for any father, even a King, to ignore his acknowledged son the way he did.

It was thankful that Edward was still too young to understand the situation but when he was older, he would have questions to ask and Jane did not know how she would be able to answer him, not without risking that he would think less of his mother for being the mistress of a married man or resentful over the fact that he was to be deprived of the opportunity to sit on the English throne because of an accident of birth. In the meantime, however, he was content to pester his grandfather for stories about the father he had never seen.

"The crowning, the crowning!" Edward insisted excitedly, bouncing a little beside his grandfather. His cheeks were rosy with excitement and his flaxen hair was rumpled. Although it was his favourite story, he couldn't pronounce the word 'coronation' yet. "Tell me about it, Grandpapa!"

Sir John smiled at his beloved grandson, smoothing his rumpled hair, his eyes brightening as he recalled the King's coronation, a glorious pageant, the like of which had not been seen throughout the reign of the careful King Henry the Seventh, whose prudence in financial matters had led to him being scorned as a miser. "Nothing like it had been seen in years," he said in his best storyteller's voice. "The King – your papa – was not much more than a boy when his father died and he became King of England. There were wonderful celebrations, for weeks. There were feasts and jousts and masques, a new celebration every day but the most glorious celebration of all was on the day when the King was crowned." He reached out to touch Jane's cheek. "Your Mama was a little girl then, and your uncles were children too but I brought them with me when I travelled to London to be present for the coronation, so that they could see their King in his glory and so that they could enjoy the festivities afterwards. Your Uncle Edward was even allowed to take part in one of the masques."

Her father studiously avoided mentioning Katherine, who had also been crowned that day, at the King's insistence, and although Jane could see the sense of the omission, knowing that some things were better off not spoken of, a part of her was still sad to see that Katherine was being erased from the retelling in this way, wondering if this was how it would be in the future. Very young children would not hear Katherine's name, or Mary's mentioned during their early childhood and when they were older, they would be taught that her marriage to the King had been invalid and that the Princess Mary was nothing but a bastard, one who had only ever pretended to the rank of princess or heir and who was rightly disinherited once the 'truth' was uncovered.

Sir John's arm went around his son's shoulders and he hugged the little boy close to him, leaning down to kiss his rosy cheek. "Just think, under other circumstances, my grandson might have had a coronation of his own one day." He spoke quietly, knowing that his words might be construed as treasonous, and his expression was one of mingled wonder as he imagined what could have been, and sorrow since he knew that it was something that could never happen.

Jane bit her lower lip, trying to hide what she was feeling. It was a thought that she had had herself, and frequently since the day she bore little Edward. Every time she held her son in her arms, ruffling his hair and admiring his health and vigour, she couldn't help but think of the cruelties of Fate, that her beautiful boy had been robbed of the throne that might have been his, the throne that would instead go to Anne's son, a boy born less than a year before her Edward, a boy that many people, if they were honest with themselves, would acknowledge to be a bastard.

It was wicked to want to wish death on anybody, much less an innocent child, Jane couldn't help but think that if Anne had miscarried on that January day, if she had lost the King's son and therefore the only protection she had against being set aside as her predecessor was, now that Katherine was dead and discarding Anne would no longer mean that the King would be obliged to return to his first wife, something that he would never have consented to do, things might have been so different. If little Prince Harry had not been born alive and healthy, securing his mother's position as Queen, then the King would have been able to set Queen Anne aside and seen to it that their marriage was annulled within the month, marrying Jane in even less time. Her Edward might have been born as a Prince by right, not as a bastard who could count himself fortunate to be permitted to call himself Lord and to bear the name of Fitzroy – and, as her father had said, they might one day have seen the coronation of King Edward the Sixth.

"That can never be." She said quietly, looking down at her little boy and wishing, for his sake, that things could be different. "I would be happy to see him a peer of the realm." She lamented, imagining what it would be like to see her Edward wearing the robes of red velvet and ermine, as he knelt before his father to be crowned with a duke's coronet and presented with a tiny sword in honour of his new rank.

"It would be a great thing to see." Sir John agreed, coughing so violently that his body shook with the strength of it, alarming both his daughter and his grandson. He sighed softly. He would have loved to attend a ceremony of ennoblement for little Edward but he knew well that he would not live to see it. "But it seems unlikely to happen."

"Because of _her_." Jane said bitterly, certain that the King would have been the most affectionate father to their son that any child could ever wish for, except for the fact that he feared to offend Anne, who would have reacted angrily and jealously if she believed that the King still had affection for Jane, or if she believed another of his children, besides the ones she had borne him, held his fatherly love. She surely hated Edward, for no other offence but that he was the King's son and no child of hers. She had been an unkind stepmother to Princess Mary and she had shown no inclination to be any kinder to Edward. Jane doubted that she ever would. As long as Anne had power over the King, she would block any desire he had to elevate his son. Edward had already been denied legitimacy and the status of a prince but she would also deny him even the small boons that his father would have given him, the titles and estates that would have helped to compensate for the fact that he was not trueborn.

She had been so sure that Anne's hold over the King would slip, in time. She had lost him to other women before, had lost him to Jane before, so surely it was only a matter of time before the King's fancy strayed and he looked elsewhere for his pleasure. When her brothers began to visit the court again, every time they sent a letter home, she expected to hear that the King had taken a new mistress, that another woman was being fawned over and feted and that while Queen Anne would continue to be treated with the honour and respect that the King's wife and the mother of the heir to the throne was due, she no longer held the King as her devoted slave. Once her hold slipped, he would be free to honour his son, as he surely longed to.

Sir John sighed deeply. He knew Jane's feelings well but he couldn't help but think that if the King truly wanted to see little Edward ennobled, then he would have done so, regardless of whether or not the Queen objected to the idea. If a father truly loved his child, would he really be prepared to neglect him for the sake of humouring his wife? "There is nothing for it now," he said quietly. "If the King wants to do something for Edward in the future, we should all be thankful for it but if he chooses not to, then it will not be the end of the world. He is the King's acknowledged son and he will be provided for. You do not need to worry for your son, my dear, even if he is never given a grand title – and there are few titles that could he have that would be better than the title of Son of the King."

"I know." She said, trying to force herself to look on the bright side, to remind herself that her son would never be allowed to want for anything where his upbringing and his education were concerned. The King would see to that – and perhaps, even if Edward was not to be made a peer, one day, when he was older, he would be made welcome to court as the King's son. It would be a wrench for her to have to part with him but she would not hold him back when the time came, for the sake of his future.

"It is you that I worry about, my Janey," Sir John said, using the pet name he had not called her by since she was a child, reaching out to clutch feebly at her hand. She was dismayed to feel the frailty of his grip, fresh evidence of the fact that her father was ailing and that he had been robbed of much of his former strength. "You have never sent a message to Master Cromwell, asking that a husband should be found for you; when you first refused, I was certain that you would change your mind once Edward was weaned and that you would decide that you wanted to be married but you never did. Don't you want to have a proper husband, my dear, and more children?" He asked coaxingly. "With the dowry the King would give you, we could make a fine match for you."

"I have Edward. He is enough for me." She said firmly. "And the King has seen to it that we will never be a burden on the purses of my family."

This was true enough, Sir John reflected, and it was partly for this reason that he had stood firm against the counsel of his elder son, who frequently stressed that it would be far better for the whole family if a husband could be found for Jane and she left Wolf Hall for her new home. While he freely acknowledged that there was no shame in having the King's illegitimate son at Wolf Hall, Edward Seymour was not pleased by the fact that his sister, an unwed mother, still lived under their roof, and his wife felt it particularly keenly, convinced that as long as her sister-in-law remained at Wolf Hall, the shadow of her disgrace would taint the whole family, including her own son, also called Edward, for whom she was very ambitious. As far as they were concerned, it was vital for Jane to be married, and quickly too, hidden away out of sight with her husband in the hopes that her indiscretion with the King would fade from memory in time.

As long as he lived, Sir John resolved that while he might urge Jane to marry, he would never force her to... but once he was dead, once his elder son became head of the family, he would no longer be able to protect her.

* * *

**_18th August 1539_ **

"Can't catch me! Can't catch me!" Cathy Brandon chanted gleefully as she ran down the length of the gallery, with her twin hard on her heels, determined to catch up to her and to reclaim the prize she had stolen from him, while their older brother egged them on and their parents watched the whole scene, amused.

The cloth doll in Cathy's hand was not the most valuable toy in the nursery, nor was it even an especially cherished one. In fact, until Cathy had snatched it up to taunt her twin with, jeering that he wouldn't be able to take it from her, Hal had never paid it any attention but once his sister had it and refused to turn it over to him, it immediately became the most desirable plaything that had ever existed. He tore after her, bellowing for her to stop and to give him the doll but she didn't listen to him.

However, for Cathy, pride went before a fall and, turning back to taunt her brother with the toy, she lost her footing, tumbling to the ground with a heavy thud and dropping the doll, her wails resounding through the gallery.

Catherine hurried to pick her howling daughter up, anxiously checking her for signs of injury. When she saw that Cathy was only startled, not hurt, she breathed a sigh of relief, cuddling her. "You need to be more careful, precious," she chided mildly, waiting until the toddler had calmed down a little before setting her down, stroking her soft curls with one hand and smiling as Hal rescued the doll from the ground and solemnly passed it to his sister.

"You have it." He told her gravely.

Cathy shook her head; after the fall she had suffered while trying to keep the toy, it had lost a lot of his charm for her. It was clearly more trouble than it was worth and she didn't want it anymore. She pushed it back into Hal's hand. "No, you."

Before a squabble could break out over which of the twins was going to be stuck with the doll, Edward came to the rescue, removing the object of their dispute and setting it to one side, distracting both of his little siblings by offering them piggyback rides... which instantly sparked another argument about which of them should be first.

Brandon smiled as he watched his three children playing, especially touched by the fact that even though he was so much older than the twins, Edward still enjoyed playing with them and was as good a big brother as any toddlers could wish for; even if he was occasionally impatient with the twins when they insisted on following him around like a pair of devoted puppies, eager to take part in whatever activities he was enjoying, he never allowed it to show.

"They're going to miss Edward when the time comes for them to go to Hatfield." He said quietly. When Catherine glanced up, surprised and troubled by his words, he elaborated. "Henry was speaking to me about it again the last time I was at court," he explained. "He thinks that it's past time for the Prince to begin his schooling and wants to begin making plans for companions to join the royal nursery. He hinted pretty heavily about our two."

" _Both_ of them?" Catherine asked, dismayed. She had expected that eventually, her son would join the royal nursery as one of Prince Harry's schoolroom companions – although she fully intended to see to it that that day was delayed as long as possible, even if she had to risk the King's anger to do it – but she had expected that she would be able to keep Cathy with her, at least.

"Henry thought that if Hal was going to be one of Harry's companions, Cathy could be a companion to Elizabeth." Brandon explained. The fact that Elizabeth was three years older than Cathy did not seem to have occurred to Henry when he made his suggestion and Brandon hadn't dared to point it out, aware that the invitation to live and learn with the two royal children was a great honour and that Henry would not look kindly on him if he declined his offer.

He had good reason to be wary of angering his friend and sovereign; Henry's behaviour towards him had been noticeably cooler over the past couple of years and there were other men, in particular Henry Norris and Anne's brother, the Earl of Ormonde, who were more favoured than he was. Anne's cousin, the Earl of Surrey, son of the Duke of Norfolk, had also come to court and was highly favoured. Royal favour was fleeting and Brandon had watched it slipping away from him, little by little. It had its compensations, of course; when Henry strongly hinted that he should resign his position as joint President of the Privy Council, a position that had immediately been bestowed on Thomas Boleyn, it meant that he was able to get away from court far more often than he would have if he had still held that prestigious office, allowing him to be present for more of Hal and Cathy's early years than he had when Edward was a child.

Henry had cited no particular reason why he wished Brandon to resign, nor had he named a fault that led him to suggest it but Brandon had noticed that among the King's Privy Council and other vital posts, men who had not been especially fond of Anne were being replaced by those who had been her supporters all along, and he theorized that Henry was making moves to ensure that, in the event of his death before Harry reached his majority, Anne, as Regent, would inherit a Privy Council who were warmly disposed towards her, one that did not harbour anybody who wished her anything but good.

However, the disadvantage to losing the favoured position he had once enjoyed, as far above suspicion as any man at court could call himself, meant that he had to be careful that he did nothing to antagonize Henry or give him cause to suspect that he was not as loyal as he claimed to be. If he tried to decline the invitation on the twins' behalf, an invitation that every noble at court with a child of the right age was surely seeking for his own offspring, Henry would want to know why and it was unlikely that they would be able to fob him off with any excuses.

"At least we won't have to separate them." He offered, knowing that, as much as they might squabble amongst themselves, Hal and Cathy would raise loud objections to the mere suggestion that they should be separated. "And they'll be well cared for."

"They'd be well cared for _here_." Catherine pointed out. "If the King is looking for children to join the royal nursery, he should look to his own son first. Has he even laid eyes on the boy?"

"I believe he visited him once, when he was born."

"Once!" Catherine shook her head in disgust, unable to believe that the King could ignore his child, even an illegitimate child, like that, especially when it was known that he had always made a great fuss over Henry Fitzroy during his brief life.

"It's difficult for Henry," Brandon tried to defend his friend, although even he was not convinced by the excuses he made for him, "with the Queen – she wouldn't thank him if he brought the child to court. She's supposed to have been sick with distress when the boy was born, and he won't want to put her through that again."

Knowing that she herself would have been far from pleased to be presented with a child that Charles had sired while they were married and told that the child was to be brought up with her own children, Catherine let this go. "What of Mistress Seymour?"

"I don't know; Henry was planning on making arrangements for a dowry, if she wished for a marriage to be made for her, but I don't know if anything ever came of it."

"Poor lady." Catherine murmured sympathetically. She was certain that Jane's feelings for Henry had been genuine, even if her family had encouraged the relationship for the sake of personal ambition and for it to have ended so abruptly had to have been painful enough for her, without being left with an illegitimate child that the King had no time for. She watched the twins playing with their brother, thankful that her children had a father who loved and cared for them. "How long do you think you'll be able to put off the King without making him angry?" She asked quietly.

"I don't know – but I'll do it for as long as I possibly can." Brandon vowed.

They watched the children playing together for a few more minutes before a discreet cough from behind them intruded on their idyll and they turned to see one of their servants standing by the door of the gallery, with a man in the royal livery by his side.

"Your Grace," the second man bowed deeply before walking towards the Brandons, bowing again once he reached their side. "I bring you an urgent message from the King." He presented him with a folded missive, sealed with the King's seal.

Brandon scanned the brief message, a frown creasing his brow as he read the words. When he lifted his head, he addressed the servant still standing by the door. "Have my valet pack my things and send a message to the stables that I will need my horse saddled at once for a journey." He ordered briskly, before turning to Catherine. "The King commands me to return to court at once." He explained, knowing that she would understand that he could not delay when he had been summoned.

The children, alerted by the urgency in his tone when he gave his order, stopped their game and watched him with wide eyes, the twins especially curious.

"Does he say why?" Catherine asked.

"No." Brandon scanned the message a second time, just in case he had missed something, but there was no reason given for why his presence was needed at court at such short notice. "All Henry says is that I am to come at once."

She nodded comprehension, stretching to her full height and planting a loving kiss on his lips. "Then you had better not keep him waiting."

* * *

**_19th August 1539_ **

It had been a long time since Henry had snapped at her.

In the three years and more since Harry's birth, and even before that, Anne could not remember her husband speaking sharply to her. He was always so thoughtful and attentive towards her, even when he was feeling short-tempered over some other matter, he had never vented his temper on her, always treating her with affection and courtesy both in private and in public.

It was a shock when he reacted so angrily to her stopping by his study, something that he had never objected to before. It was earlier than he usually had his meetings with Cromwell so she had not expected him to be there yet, much less for Charles Brandon and the Marquess of Lincolnshire to be present as well but even if they were there, she had not anticipated how Henry would react to her arrival. If he had asked her to leave them for the time being, explaining that they were busy with affairs of state and promising that he would see her later, she would have understood and she would gladly have withdrawn, given that she had arrived unannounced and she knew that the affairs of state required his attention, but she had certainly not expected him to react the way he did.

He sprang from his chair, grasping her arm firmly and pushing her back towards the door, his voice an angry snarl as he instructed her, in no uncertain terms, to return to her rooms immediately and to leave him to his business, thrusting her out of his study as unceremoniously as he had pushed her back in the direction of the palace more than four years ago when she followed him out into the courtyard as he was setting out on one of his so-called hunting trips – as if he thought that there was a single person at court who believed that this was all his excursions were!

_If he knew that she was following him, he gave no sign of it, ignoring her entirely as he greeted his groom. "Good morrow, John." Even his attendants followed his example, determinedly avoiding her gaze, none of them greeting her, as etiquette demanded._

_Had her father known what she was planning, he would have stopped her before she could leave the palace, reminding her that what the King did was nobody's business but his own and that it would be much better for her if she ignored it, as she was expected to. It might have been beneath her dignity as Queen to chase after her husband like this, particularly in front of others, asking him about his plans when they both knew what those plans were and that he did not wish to speak of them, least of all to her, but Anne didn't care._

_"Where are you going?" She kept her tone light and friendly, injecting a light note of flirtation to her voice. If Henry was feeling amorous, she was his wife and she was ready to lie with him. They could go back to her bedchamber right now, if he wished, and once they got there, she was sure that she could make him forget whichever slut had her claws in him at the moment, win him back to her again and give him the Prince she prayed to be able to give him._

_How could she possibly be expected to conceive the son and heir that they both longed for if he never shared her bed?_

_"Out." Henry's response was curt, his tone indicating that he had no intention of being coaxed into altering his plans, or even into telling her more about where he was going but she had still had to push._

_"Where?"_

_He shoved her aside impatiently. "Go back inside."_

_Conscious of the eyes of Henry's attendants upon her and knowing that this incident would be spoken of and richly embroidered upon before the day was out, she moved closer to him, determinedly keeping her voice steady. "Where are you going? I want to know."_

_He grabbed her by the arm, pulling her away from his horse and walking a few paces back in the direction of the palace with her. "It is none of your business. It is my pleasure that you go back inside now!" He finished by impatiently shoving her away from him, a contemptuous gesture that could not have been missed by any of the other people present._

_Hurt, angry and embarrassed to be dismissed like this in front of others, she inclined her head briefly in mock-deference before walking away. "Majesty."_

_As she walked away, she could hear Henry's heavy, impatient sigh behind her and she kept walking, her heart thudding in her chest, hoping against hope that he would change his mind about his plans and follow her._

_He didn't and she couldn't bear to turn around, to try to coax him again, knowing as she did that the grooms who attended her husband, together with the few companions who were to accompany him on this excursion were undoubtedly amused by the way she had been pushed away. Even when Henry had made up his mind to set Katherine aside, making it plain to her and to everybody else that she was not his wife and that she never had been, he had made sure to treat her with an appropriate degree of courtesy in public. He would never have pushed her away like this._

He didn't follow her this time either.

The Marquess of Lincolnshire might not have had any quarrel with her – at least not that she knew of – but Anne had half-expected that she would see both Cromwell and Brandon smiling as she was cast out of the room, amused to see Henry's obvious impatience with her but their expressions were sombre. They had maps and stacks of parchment spread out on the table in front of them and were absorbed by them, seeming to have barely noticed her arrival and her abrupt ejection from the room, much less thought to gloat about it.

As always, there were dozens of courtiers milling around, some of them hoping for an audience with Henry and more than a few of them had seen her pushed out of the study, with those closest to them hearing Henry's hissed admonition for her to go away leave him to his work. They avoided Anne's gaze after Henry slammed the door shut behind her, as though they were afraid that they too might attract the King's anger if they were seen to show her some sympathy over her husband's actions. Some of them were better able to hide their curiousity than others but she didn't doubt that they were all wondering what was happening.

She had no doubt that as soon as she was safely out of earshot, they would be whispering about her behind her back, speculating as to whether Henry's love for her, which had seemed stronger than ever since Harry's arrival, was finally beginning to fade, if the closeness they had shared for over three years was beginning to fade. They would wonder whether or not this was a sign that they could expect the King to take a mistress before any of them were much older, returning to his old ways.

Anne didn't think that she would be able to cope if he did.

"Anne?" A soft voice spoke her name and she started slightly when a hand was laid on her arm, turning to see her uncle standing by her side, with her father standing a few paces away. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, drawing her away from the courtiers milling about and escorting her back to her own rooms. Her father followed them. "You must not be distressed if the King is short-tempered today, my dear." He counselled kindly, dismissing her ladies with instructions that they should bring refreshments. "It is nothing to do with you."

"What is going on?" She glanced from her uncle, whose expression was sympathetic, to her father who looked sober and displeased. "Papa?" Her father didn't say a word. She might not know what was happening but she knew that if it could bring an expression like that to her father's face, it must be serious. Had the pope finally followed through with his old threat to excommunicate Henry and incite another monarch to overthrow him, a course of action that he seemed to have rethought over the past years? Had the Lady Mary tried something from her home in exile, perhaps seeking to incite people to rebellion on her behalf or else to escape from England altogether and sneak away to Spain? She needed to know what it was. "Tell me."

"I do not think that would be wise." Boleyn said firmly, before his brother-in-law could answer, fixing Norfolk with a stony look and speaking as though Anne was not present. "If the King has decided that it would be best not to trouble her with this, then we should not presume to defy his wishes."

"Anne is not a child, Thomas, nor is she a fool." Norfolk said briskly, completely untroubled by the admonition or by the angry glare on the other man's face at his words. He turned to Anne. "You know that Master Cromwell intended to suppress the last remaining religious houses, don't you?" He asked rhetorically, knowing that she was aware of this and what her feelings on the subject were. They had spoken of it often enough. "One of the monasteries marked for closure was Louth Abbey, in Lincolnshire; it is not the wealthiest of the religious houses, but it does enjoy a considerable income from its lands. Cromwell sent his agents there to investigate it two months ago."

Anne nodded comprehension, knowing exactly why the agents had been sent, to take an inventory of all of the Abbey's assets, so that when the time came for the place to be picked clean, they could make sure that they didn't miss anything that they should be confiscating. She wouldn't be surprised if they even counted the knives and spoons that the monks used to eat their meals. "To make sure that Cromwell had a full account of the Abbey's property, when the time came for it to be dissolved."

"As is right and proper," Boleyn interjected with a frown, not liking to see his daughter speaking to her uncle on this matter, or any other. He was the one that Anne should be coming to with any queries she had about affairs of state, if she insisted on meddling with them, but Norfolk had been going out of his way to make himself indispensable to his niece. He had taken no interest in Anne or in either of her siblings when they were children, even when their mother, Norfolk's own sister, was still alive but now that Anne was a grown woman, the Queen of England and the mother of a future King, secure in her position of power, Norfolk lost no opportunity to make himself agreeable to her. "If no inventory was taken, you can be certain that the monks would steal whatever they could carry when the time came for their monastery to be shut down." Much to his anger and frustration, Anne barely nodded in response to his words, far more interested in what her uncle was telling her.

"Last week, Cromwell's agents returned again, this time to take possession of the Abbey and to send the monks who resided there on their way but they were stopped by the men of the nearby villages, who refused to allow them to pass on to the Abbey. The men were armed mostly with farming tools, they had few real weapons at their disposal, but they vastly outnumbered the agents and the few soldiers sent to accompany them, so Cromwell's people had to turn back."

"Are you serious?" Anne asked automatically, even though she knew that her uncle would never have dreamed of lying to her about something like this. "I can't believe it!" She knew that there were many among the people who were far from happy about the way the monasteries were being shut down and their assets being seized for the King's treasury but she couldn't believe that it had come to this; that agents acting in Henry's name would be kept from carrying out their duties by his own people.

Henry was a popular King. His people loved him, they had since he first came to the throne – no, even before that, when he was still a young boy and the Duke of York, not expected to become King at all, they had loved him – and despite everything, they had never risen against him.

Even when he first sought to annul his marriage to Katherine and to name Mary a bastard, even when the people balked at the thought of the only Queen that many of them could remember being set aside in favour of another woman while the girl they had been taught to look to as the heir to the throne was disinherited and bastardized, they had not rebelled. They might have made their feelings known by loudly cheering Katherine whenever she appeared in public – which she did frequently, despite Henry's express orders that she was not to show herself to the people or to acknowledge their acclaim – and by shouting insults about Anne, declaring that they would never accept her as their Queen but they had not taken it further, by rebelling against the King outright.

Anne may have been greeted with sullen silence as her coronation procession passed through the streets of London, but they had not shouted insults or been violent… the only person who had sought to do her harm that day was Brereton, although she had not learned of it until years later, after the man's failed attempt to poison her in the hope of killing her and the unborn Harry at a single stroke.

When the Oath of Succession was circulated among the people so that every adult English subject could take it, most had taken it without protest and while Anne was well aware that the people were angry when men like Thomas More and Bishop Fisher were arrested, imprisoned and later executed as punishment for their refusal to take the Oath acknowledging her as Queen, her children as the sole legitimate heirs to the throne and Henry as Supreme Head of the Church of England, they had not attempted an uprising to prevent the executions.

Now they were rebelling over the monasteries.

"I'm afraid that's not all there is to it, Anne," Norfolk continued. "The Marquess of Lincolnshire was sent for as a result of this incident, as was the Duke of Suffolk so that they, Master Cromwell and the King might discuss how best to deal with this matter. Last night, Master Cromwell received a report that many of the men of the villages near Louth Abbey have barricaded themselves into the Abbey. They have vowed that they will remain there until His Majesty gives his word that the Abbey will be left unmolested. Worse still, their example is being followed with at least two other monasteries due to be suppressed – two that we know of, there may be others already and there certainly will be if this becomes public knowledge, something that the King is trying to prevent. It is likely that the King was told of this first thing this morning, and that this is why his temper was short when you went to see him." He added gently, patting her hand. "He knows that this is not your fault – in fact, my sources have indicated that the rebels have declared that they have no quarrel with you, and that they appreciate the work that you have done for the people with the religious houses given into your charge. You are the only one that they have a good word for. Perhaps if the King had listened to you more and to Master Cromwell less, this need not have happened." He added with a wry smile.

"We cannot know that." Boleyn said sharply, angry both that the other man should say such a thing, when questioning the King's actions like that could be construed as treasonous, and because he couldn't help but think that Norfolk might be right. He didn't like that Norfolk's decision to help and support Anne in her efforts with the religious houses had been proven to be the right one, when Boleyn would have done almost anything to dissuade his daughter from her foolishness in setting herself against Cromwell as she had. "It is possible that this rebellion – this _traitorous_ rebellion – was inevitable, no matter what the fates of the suppressed monasteries were."

"Perhaps." Norfolk agreed, although he sounded far from convinced. "But the fact remains that the King listened to Cromwell and not to Anne, and this was the result."

"What will happen now?" Anne asked urgently, less concerned with the question of who had been right and who was wrong and more worried about what would happen now, if Henry's subjects were rising up against his people. If there was an uprising, things could get out of hand so easily and if that happened, who could say how far things might go?

"I don't know, Anne." Norfolk told her gravely. "I don't know."

* * *

It was late.

Henry had not come to her rooms and Anne had not yet gone to bed, afraid that if she did, if she was asleep when her husband came to her again, he would decide against disturbing her and make his way to his own quarters for the night, which would mean that they would not have the opportunity to mend the quarrel until the next morning at least. She didn't think that it would be wise to go to bed with the matter unresolved.

She dismissed her ladies as soon as they had helped her into her nightgown and her robe, with the sole exception of Nan Saville, who remained to comb her hair. Although Nan was usually quite ready to chat with her about various matters, mostly of little consequence, while she tended to her, she seemed to understand that Anne did not wish to speak tonight and she held her peace, drawing the comb gently through Anne's long tresses to make sure that she did not pull. Her ministrations, combined with the heat of the fire in her bedchamber, were so soothing that despite Anne's resolve to stay awake until Henry came to her, she felt her eyes begin to drift shut more than once and had to battle to keep them open and to remain alert.

Once Anne's hair was combed, Nan set the comb aside. "Is there anything else that I can do for you, Your Majesty?" She asked quietly, unhappy to see her mistress troubled, wanting to be able to do something to help her but not knowing what she could do.

Anne forced a smile to her lips as she shook her head. "No, thank you, Nan. You should go to bed – it's late."

"What about you, Your Majesty? If you need something later…" Nan began to protest, knowing that etiquette demanded that Anne should be attended by one of her ladies at all times, in case she should need something during the night. The custom of one of the ladies sleeping on a pallet bed outside the entrance to Anne's bedchamber had been allowed to elapse over the past few years, since the King had begun to share her bed at night again and they did not require company but if the King was not going to come tonight, then somebody should be with Anne, just in case.

"I'll be fine." Anne insisted, motioning to the small table set in front of the fire, where wine and a light supper of bread, cheese and fruit had already been set out for her. "Everything's ready, so there's nothing more that you can do now. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

There was a definite note of dismissal in Anne's voice and Nan heard it. She curtsied deeply before departing. "Goodnight, Your Majesty."

"Goodnight, Nan." Anne responded, waiting until the other woman had left the room before rising from her seat in front of the dressing table and moving to sit down in the chair in front of the fire.

She was not especially hungry and, after picking at a piece of bread for a few moments, she set it down, picking up the goblet of wine and taking a sip from it. Several books were piled on the table and she picked up one, a French romance sent as a gift by Marguerite of Navarre, opening it and glancing over it. The words blurred before her eyes as she looked over them, taking in none of their meaning. She was determined to stay awake but sleep was just as determined to claim her, perhaps even more so.

The book slipped from her fingers, falling to the floor with a soft thud but Anne had already drowsed off and wasn't aware of that.

The next sensation that she was conscious of was that of an arm slipped in underneath her knees and another moving behind her back as she was lifted bodily out of the chair and scooped up in strong arms. Yawning, she opened sleep-fogged eyes to see Henry looking down at her as he carried her the few yards over to her bed, gently setting her down on it.

"I didn't mean to wake you, sweetheart," he said quietly, touching her cheek lightly before taking off the velvet robe he wore over his nightshirt, tossing it over the back of one of the chairs and indicating that she too should remove her robe and pass it to him, "but if I'd left you to spend the night in that chair, you would have been very stiff tomorrow."

"It's alright." Anne said, feeling a little awkward at having dozed off, despite her resolve to stay awake, and too tired to think clearly. "Thank you."

Henry said nothing for a few moments, folding back the heavy coverlet so that they could climb into the bed together and then tucking it back around them. Apologies never came easily for him, even – perhaps especially – when they were owed to someone he cared for. Even when he regretted his actions, he found it difficult to find the words to express that regret. He waited until they were both comfortably settled under the covers before putting one arm around Anne, tugging her closer to him. "I shouldn't have shouted at you." He said at last, caressing her shoulder with one hand. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright." Anne made herself smile, aware of what the words had cost him and that her best course of action was to accept the apology and not to make any fuss over what had happened. "I know that you were worried about what was happening in Lincolnshire."

"Did your father tell you about it?"

"My uncle did." Although the room was warm, thanks to the fire, and the coverlet would have kept out any chill, even if a fire had not been lit, Anne couldn't keep from shivering a little, worried about what was undoubtedly happening at Louth Abbey as they spoke, picturing the men of the villages laying in provisions and gathering together any implement that could be used as a weapon, perhaps preparing themselves for a siege... if it came to that.

"I didn't want to trouble you with this." Henry remarked, trying to sound confident and reassuring, for both their sakes. "I'm sure that it's nothing; Master Cromwell thinks that these rebellions won't last. Once they realize that I have no intention of yielding to their demonstration, they'll put an end to this foolishness and they'll be glad to take advantage of the opportunity to slink back to their fields. Tomorrow, I will send a message to them, telling them that if they put a stop to this now, and allow my men to continue to carry out my orders, I won't punish any man who took part. It will be as if this never happened. They'll be glad to take advantage of my clemency. It will all be over within a week, before it can spread any further, I'm certain of that."

"What if they don't give in?" Anne asked, not anywhere near as confident as her husband was; if the men in Lincolnshire were willing to take the drastic step of defying their sovereign lord to ensure that their words were heard, if they were prepared to take this chance, she couldn't imagine that they would be willing to simply give up their stand with nothing more than a stern warning from Henry... and if they didn't, if this spread, what would happen to them then?

"They will." Henry insisted, trying to sound as though he had no doubts on that score.

He knew as well as she did that they couldn't afford for them not to.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

**_20th August 1539_ **

The Marquess of Lincolnshire was calm, his posture and his expression arrogant as he delivered his message, as he was charged to by the King, sitting astride his horse and looking down at them as though they were insects, beneath his contempt, as though their stand against Cromwell's agents was a minor irritation at the most, scarcely worth the time he was taking to deal with the matter personally. Once he had finished reading the message, he folded the parchment again before speaking.

"His Majesty will give you until tomorrow at noon to vacate this place and to allow his agents to carry out their duties, as he has charged them to do." He announced, not troubling to hide the smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth, betraying his conviction that they would be eager to accept the offer, eager to seize the chance to escape so lightly.

He might not be wrong, Seth Bradley reflected, looking at the expressions on the faces of some of the men standing nearest to him and seeing the way their grip on their weapons faltering slightly, as though they would gladly have tossed them aside and run back to their cottages, willing to forget that they had ever dreamed that they might be able to stand against the wishes of their King, the man chosen by God to rule over them.

There had been times over the past days when he thought that he must have been mad to make the suggestion, to advocate that if the men of his village, and those of neighbouring villages, wished for the Abbey to be spared, they should take the matter into their own hands, making their feelings plain to the King and showing him that, as far as they were concerned, Louth Abbey and the monks who dwelled within it had never done anything but good for the people of the district, and that they had no intention of standing idly by while it was invaded by Cromwell's agents and destroyed.

Even the Father Abbot had tried to persuade him not to follow through with his plans, fearing for the safety and the lives of the men who took part and knowing, as they all did, that trying to prevent the King's agents from carrying out his orders was, in itself, an act of treason. As touched as he was by their desire to spare him and his fellow monks from being turned out of their home, left dispossessed and destitute when the Abbey was suppressed, he was more afraid of what would happen but, much as Bradley and the other men respected the Abbot, much as they knew that he was right about the fact that they might be putting themselves at risk by rebelling against the King's express command, they were not prepared to yield, especially when they heard that their stand had inspired men in other areas to make a stand on behalf of the religious houses that did so much good in their own communities.

They had accepted that once they made the choice to stand against the agents that Master Cromwell had sent to begin to confiscate the Abbey's assets and to give the monks notice that they would have to vacate the building, there was no turning back. They would have to stand by their decision and accept the consequences of it… until the King sent his message.

If they wished, they could leave now and forget that any of this had ever happened. They could return to their farms, reassured by the King's promise not to punish anybody who had taken part in the rebellion, and continue their ordinary lives, spared the imprisonment and the death that would follow if they were captured as traitors and forced to pay the price for their defiance, with their fate serving as a warning to anybody else who might have considered trying to rebel against the King.

Even Bradley was sorely tempted and he knew that if he was, the other men were bound to be.

He could hear the whispered speculations about what this might mean, whether it was a sign that the King might be frightened by the fact that they had stood against him, offering them amnesty because he was so desperate to put an end to this matter and quickly as possible, before it could spread, or whether the King knew that, if he so chose, he could crush their rebellion against his authority as easily as a man might crush a fly, only offering them this chance out of his mercy.

No man present wished to be the first to advocate accepting the offer and abandoning their cause but it was plain that more that a few of them wished to do so.

If they were afraid, if they wished to take advantage of the opportunity to go home, without taking any further risks, he could not force them to stay, and he did not wish to.

"If any man present wishes to take advantage of this offer and return to his home, I will not condemn him and nor should anybody else." Bradley began, trying to sound reassuring. For himself, he was unmarried and childless, with both of his parents dead for a decade or more but he knew that many of the other men had families of their own, or elderly mothers and fathers who depended on them for their support, people who would be left destitute if their providers were to be imprisoned or, worse still, executed. "If you wish to leave, now is the time to do so. The King's people will not be back until tomorrow."

There were a few scattered whispers at this but no man stepped forward to take advantage of the opening to leave.

"What about you, Seth?" One man called out.

"Will you stay?" Another man, one of the youngest present, enquired, looking up at Bradley with a trusting expression, reminiscent of a dog who would have happily followed his master through the gates of Hell if that was where he chose to go.

To be a leader of men was no light burden, Bradley reflected as he looked at the younger man, knowing that he would be guided by him, following his example, and that this would be true of a great many of those present. He was the one to suggest trying to save the Abbey, he was the one who laid out the plans and who drafted the message to Master Cromwell and the King, a message that one of the monks had written for him before he put his mark at the end of the letter. He was the one who gave advice about which tools would serve as the best weapons, along with instructions about the provisions that they would need in case they needed to barricade themselves within the Abbey for an extended period. Their purpose here might be to save the Abbey but the men were there because of him.

Their fates were in his hands and that was not a responsibility that he could, or should, take lightly.

Knowing that if they continued with this, there was a good chance that at least some of their number, likely himself included, would be arrested and executed for this, he was tempted to put an end to the matter, here and now, to pack up and return to the village, instead of risking the King's anger but he could not.

For better or worse, he had chosen to make his stand here, in defence of a cause that he believed to be just. He did not want any of the men with him to suffer but he also could not walk away and allow the good monks of the Abbey to be turned out.

"I don't ask any man to stay with me." He said at last, knowing even as he said it that if he was to stay, it was likely that at least some of his companions, probably the majority of them, would stay too rather than abandoning him, leaving him to shoulder his burden alone.

As he expected, only a couple of men left, tendering their apologies and citing their need to care for their families, their fears over what would become of them if they were arrested.

The rest of them stayed, willing to fight with him, even to die with him if that was to be their fate.

It was a responsibility that he was going to have to live with.

* * *

**_22nd August 1539_ **

Brandon missed his family but it was good to be back at court, to know that despite the fact that their relationship had been somewhat cooler recently, Henry still trusted him, particularly in a crisis. As soon as the trouble with the monastery in Lincolnshire began, his friend sent for him at once, seeking his counsel and his assistance in dealing with this matter and the relieved expression on Henry's face when he arrived had not been feigned.

Norfolk and Boleyn might share the duties as joint Presidents of the King's Privy Council but they were not the ones he called upon when a rebellion was threatening. Brandon was.

He could imagine how disgusted both men surely were to know that. He was certain that it was one of them who had hinted to Henry that it would be a good idea to ensure that all men in positions of power were men who were loyal to Anne as well as to him, a qualification that excluded Brandon and which would mean his removal from the position he had occupied since Cardinal Wolsey was dismissed from his office, but even if they had managed to see to it that he lost his post as joint President of the council, they couldn't change the fact that the King trusted him.

The Privy Council had been in session for hours, ever since the messenger sent by the Marquess of Lincolnshire had arrived, letting them know that the men at Louth Abbey had decided against accepting the King's gracious offer of amnesty, choosing to continue to barricade themselves within the Abbey rather than allow the King's agents to enter. Another group had followed their example, a fourth monastery was being zealously guarded by the men – and even a few of the women too, if rumour could be trusted – who lived nearby, people who were determined not to be moved from their stance, people who were willing to do whatever it took to protect the remaining religious houses.

Cromwell would have said that it was a sign of how powerful a stranglehold the religious houses had on the people of England, so powerful that even Englishmen who were otherwise loyal subjects of the King could be incited to rebel against their sovereign lord, who had only their interests at heart with his policies, but Brandon disagreed. For him, the fact that these people were willing to risk execution as traitors in order to save the religious houses that had been a vital part of their communities for generations was a sign of how important a role the good religious houses played in England; if they were all corrupt, if they all housed idle, degenerate monks and nuns, as Cromwell seemed to believe was the case, then surely nobody would bother lifting a finger to save them from closure. They would be happy to see them shut down and grateful to Henry for doing so.

Opinion was divided over the best course of action to take.

Some, including both Thomas and George Boleyn, were of the opinion that a company of soldiers should be sent to each of the monasteries where a protest was taking place, so that these rebellions could be nipped in the bud, with the ringleaders executed as traitors and as examples to anybody else who dared to challenge the King's authority. They maintained that this would be the fastest and most effective way of crushing the rebellion and discouraging others, showing people that they could not defy their King without paying the price.

Norfolk, whom one might have expected to side with his kinsmen, advised a completely different approach. He was of the opinion that since Queen Anne's efforts with other religious houses seemed to have met with the approval of the rebels, who had made a point of saying that they had no quarrel with the Queen, whose projects were appreciated, they should consider offering a compromise of sorts; while the monasteries in question would be suppressed, as the King had ordered, the properties would be turned over to the Queen's custody and she would ensure that they were used for the benefit of the surrounding communities, a concession they might find tempting, as the district would benefit from the Queen's project, and that might persuade them to lay down their arms and end their rebellion.

Brandon had known better than to remark on how unusual a state of affairs it was when Anne was the one of whom people approved, rather than Henry but he couldn't help but be slightly amused by it, despite the gravity of the situation. Like anybody who had been present for Anne's silent coronation procession, or who had heard the people crying against her as a whore when it became known that the King sought to set good Queen Katherine aside and to name the Princess Mary a bastard for her sake – he privately thought that if Anne had dared to show her face in public the day the trial at Blackfriars began, she would have been torn to pieces by the crowds – he could scarcely have believed that a time would come when they had a good word for her but it had happened.

Anne's standing in the public eye _had_ improved once she bore little Prince Harry, but their approval had been for the child's sake then and now it was for _her_. Her own actions, actions with which few of the King's councillors had agreed, had won her fresh supporters.

Henry frowned slightly, clearly far from thrilled by Norfolk's suggestion which, while it might be an idea that could succeed, was one that his pride would not allow him to accept. "Thank you, Your Grace, but I don't think that I am so badly off that I need to hide behind the Queen's skirts." He said frostily, liking neither the thought of needing Anne to come to his rescue and smooth things over, or of involving her in this dispute more than was absolutely necessary. The people were fickle and, while they might be speaking in Anne's favour at the moment, that could easily change tomorrow and he didn't want them to turn on her if they decided that they weren't satisfied with what she had planned for the religious houses.

"If I may, it would also be a dangerous precedent to set, Your Majesty." Cromwell observed smoothly, the slightest of frowns creasing his brow at Norfolk's suggestion, and the unspoken implication that Anne's proposals for the religious houses had been proven to be wiser than his own. "If we allow these men to dictate policy, if we indulge their behaviour by rewarding them for their defiance, then we may be certain that the next time the people living in a district where the monastery is to be suppressed would rather see its land doled out for their use or for a school to be founded will emulate them, refusing to allow Your Majesty to determine what the best course of action would be."

Henry nodded, seeing the sense of what Cromwell was saying, then turned to Brandon. "How soon do you think that you could muster a force of Suffolk men, Charles?"

His question drew raised eyebrows from several of his councillors, with Norfolk quickly suppressing a scowl, displeased that his idea, one that he felt had the best chance of paving the way for a peaceful resolution, had been dismissed so easily and Cromwell looking faintly alarmed, his keen mind calculating the likelihood of success if this resistance was answered with armed force and the reaction of the rest of the country if the King's soldiers were to battle against men armed with little more than farming tools, men whose actions were likely to be approved of by many of the people.

Brandon was thinking along similar lines to Cromwell, inwardly debating the question as he calculated how long it would take to gather and equip a force of his tenants. In the old days, many of the high-ranking nobles would have been able to call upon a private army of their retainers and dependents but Henry's father had put an end to that, fearing for his throne if he allowed any of his subjects to wield that much power. However, while that policy was a sensible one, it led to difficulties at times like these, since it meant that when a nobleman was called upon to gather troops, he had to recruit them, supply them with the equipment and weapons they would need, an expensive and time-consuming venture.

It would be easy enough for him to muster a couple of dozen men from among his own retainers, and they could be ready within two days, three at the most but if he needed to recruit more men, it would take much longer. Not only was time an issue, he feared that if he went to the Abbey with an army at his back, it would be seen as wrong by the people, that they would take it badly if they saw that their King was going to such lengths to crush a minor rebellion. It would be better to go with smaller numbers, and it was all but guaranteed that the threat of armed soldiers, even a relatively small group of them, would be enough to intimidate the rebels into surrendering.

"I can be ready within three days, Your Majesty." He answered at last.

Henry rewarded him with an approving smile. "I knew that I could count on you, Charles." He praised him, glancing down at the map in front of him. "This business began in Lincolnshire, so you will take your men there and put an end to this uprising, once and for all."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Good. Get to it." Henry waved him away, indicating that he should hasten back to Suffolk to begin immediately. He studied the map carefully, frowning at the sight of the four markers denoting the locations of the rebellions, while he combed his mind to think which of his nobles would be suitable candidates to be entrusted with the task of dealing with the other three groups of rebels.

His people needed to know that he meant what he said, and that rebellions against the authority of their King, divinely appointed to rule over them, would not be tolerated, now or ever.

* * *

When Henry first brought Beau to Anne, having selected the tiny puppy as the pick of the litter Lady Lisle's spaniel had produced, her ladies had had several eventful weeks as the puppy learned the way around his new little kingdom, as well as learning all about his new companions. A sharp eye had had to be kept on the small animal at all times, for fear that he would make a mess on the floor, eat something that was harmful to him or play with their embroidery threads, revelling in tangling them as much as he possibly could. Now that he was a little older, and somewhat wiser, he could be more or less trusted to behave himself and the ladies were very fond of him. Anne adored him and the little dog revelled in the pampering and treats she showered on him, becoming her worshipful shadow and happily trotting around after her, or sitting contentedly in her lap for hours when he wasn't getting into mischief.

Now, he was barking happily as his mistress tossed a soft, leather covered ball several yards away from him, laughing as he scurried after it, returning in triumph with the ball clamped firmly between his teeth, basking in her praise and eagerly accepting the morsel of meat she offered him as a reward, his tail wagging.

"Good boy. Good boy." Anne scooped the puppy up and set him on her lap, gently scratching him behind his ears, only to have Beau leap down and dart towards the door when he heard footsteps approaching from outside.

When Norfolk entered the room, he was greeted with a frenzy of barking that was only stilled when Anne hurried to pick Beau up, quieting him before kissing her uncle on the cheek. "Uncle."

"You have a fine watchdog here, Anne." Norfolk said, reaching out slowly to caress the puppy's head, knowing better than to startle him by moving too quickly. Beau studied him warily for a few moments, recognizing Norfolk as somebody who visited frequently and deciding that, if his mistress was pleased to see him, he would welcome him too. He allowed the caress, licking Norfolk's hand in acknowledgement. "This little fellow would never let anybody come in here without giving warning, would you?"

Beau barked confirmation but, to his disgust, he found himself being set down on the floor and ignored while his mistress guided her uncle over to the chairs by the fire, sitting down and indicating for him to sit opposite her.

"What is happening?" Anne asked urgently, knowing that her uncle was the only person likely to answer her questions honestly. Henry answered any queries with assurances that he had the matter well in hand and that there was no need for her to worry about it, promising that he would take care of it and never elaborating any further. Her husband might have intended this to reassure her and to keep her from dwelling on the subject but, if anything, Anne was _more_ worried by his avoidance of the subject.

"It's bad news, I'm afraid." Her uncle told her gravely. "Another group of rebels have set up a camp in St. John's Priory, and like the men at Louth Abbey, they have no intention of accepting any offers for their surrender. I recommended that the King should consider suggesting that the monasteries where the disputes were taking place should be given over to your charge," he added, seeing from the expression on Anne's face that she was taken aback by his words. He might have supported her in her work with the religious houses, support that she considered essential to her work, but she had not expected him to think so highly of what she was doing that he would be willing to advocate her cause to Henry. He gave her a thin smile. "You are the one that they seem to be most warmly disposed towards, Anne." He pointed out gently. "I thought that, if the rebels could be tempted by the prospect that you would use the seized properties for their benefit, they might be prepared to surrender, and that we should take advantage of the fact that they think well of you to put an end to this business."

"What did the King say to that?" Anne couldn't imagine that Henry would be pleased by the suggestion. He had given Cromwell's proposals for the religious houses his seal of approval and, while he was happy enough to indulge her and to allow her the opportunity to take charge of a few of the monasteries so that she could use their assets as she saw fit, and while he was usually fairly generous with his praise for her successes in that respect, he had shown no inclination to expand her projects or to have his people follow her lead.

"He did not think that it was the best strategy." Norfolk said, frowning slightly at the memory of how his suggestion had been dismissed, and of how none of the other councillors were prepared to speak in favour of a course of action that they must surely have known could represent the best chance they had for a peaceful solution. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have been far from inclined to advocate that the King and his councillors should follow the lead of a woman, even if that woman happened to be the Queen, but these were not ordinary circumstances. If Anne's strategy was the one that was most likely to succeed, then it would be foolish to dismiss it because of her sex and Norfolk had never been a fool.

Anne nodded comprehension. She had expected as much. "What does he intend to do?" She asked, seeing from the sombre expression on her uncle's face that, whatever it was that Henry had planned, Norfolk was concerned about it.

Norfolk hesitated a moment before he answered her. "He has ordered that the Duke of Suffolk muster a company of men, arm them and travel to Lincolnshire with them in order to suppress the rebellion by force." He explained, his mouth twisting in a grimace at the mention of Brandon's title; although the other man had held his title for well over a decade, Norfolk had never become reconciled to the idea of a man he considered to be barely a gentleman elevated to the highest rank of the peerage. It was an insult to men like him, who came from old, grand families and who could boast truly noble pedigrees that Brandon was able to call himself their equal, simply because he was a friend of the King's. "Other noblemen will be dispatched to the other three monasteries after Brandon is finished with Louth Abbey." He smiled wryly. "I believe that George was disappointed not to be one of those charged with the task.

Anne returned the smile, albeit half-heartedly. She could imagine that George would be eager to take on a mission of that nature. Since Jane's death, her brother had been more serious that usual, which surprised her as she had never thought him to be especially fond of his wife. Nell and the new baby, little Tommy, remained at Hever and George visited them frequently, staying there for long periods. He seemed restless at court and eager to get away. A mission to put an end to one of the rebellions would have suited him quite well, and he had fancied the idea of being a soldier – or preferably a general – when they were children. "You're worried." She observed quietly, able to see that much from the expression on his face.

"I am." Norfolk confirmed. "So far, the rebellions have spread but they have not spread so far that there is a risk of a true uprising against His Majesty. Brandon will be bringing armed troops to deal with a handful of rebellious farmers... it is my fear that should this become public knowledge, it will anger the people, and that they might even come to view the King as a tyrant unless a peaceful solution can be found to this situation. The best thing would be for a peaceful resolution to be found but it seems as though this is not to be the case."

Anne didn't say anything. She knew that her uncle was right that it would be in the best interests of all concerned if this matter could be resolved peacefully but if Henry had decided to meet the rebellion with an armed response, he would not be dissuaded, by her or by anybody else.

* * *

**_24th August 1539_ **

Something was happening.

Mary might not have been told anything about what was going on, but only a blind fool could possibly have missed the changes at the More over the past couple of days, not only in terms of the additional soldiers who had been sent, ostensibly for her protection but more likely to protect her father and Anne from whatever it was they feared she might do if she was given any opportunity to do so, but also in terms of the change in the moods of the other inhabitants of the manor, Sir William in particular.

Her chamberlain and jailer had asked her to come to his study yesterday, to let her know that it was the King's express wish, relayed through Master Cromwell, that she would no longer be permitted to leave the house, either to go riding or to go for a walk, for the foreseeable future. Until he was given instructions that she was to be allowed to go outdoors again, she was to remain within the walls of the manor, though she would continue to have the freedom to go wherever she wished inside, with the exception of his and Lady Margaret's private quarters.

His tone was bland when he explained the new restriction to her, as though he had no idea why the King would choose to curtail his daughter's freedom any more than he had already, why it was no longer enough for him that he was keeping her confined to the manor that was once her mother's prison and why he had to deny her one of the few freedoms and pleasures that she still enjoyed.

It was very possible that he didn't know, Mary had thought, at least at first, although she later revised her opinion when the reinforcements began to arrive and she knew that Sir William must have known what was happening.

Her father had chosen well when he selected Sir William as her custodian. Had she had the power to order a prisoner of high station kept close – and Anne would have been the first person that she would want to order placed under house arrest, if she was able to command that it be done – she thought that she would have liked to charge Sir William and his wife with the task of keeping them under close control. Sir William was not a man who would ever exceed his authority by imposing additional restrictions or by withholding privileges and Mary couldn't say that he treated her with marked discourtesy; in fact, he was far more gracious in his treatment of her, a prisoner under his charge, that Lady Bryan was when Mary was living at Hatfield, despite the fact that she had ostensibly held an honoured role during her time there as one of the ladies attending on Elizabeth... at least, an honoured role for somebody who was not a princess by birthright, somebody who should count it an insult to be forced to wait on her father's bastard by his concubine.

However, while Mary would not have called him unkind, Sir William was not a man who would go out of his way to be kind to her, and he would never have dreamed of allowing her any additional freedoms or privileges than those the King had ordered for her, any more than he would imagine that he would be able to fly, and if he was sent instructions that the privileges Mary was allowed were to be curtailed, he would implement the new rules at once and he would not question the reason behind him, much less arguing that the new restrictions were unnecessary.

It was his duty to obey the King's orders and he would never have dreamed of questioning them, so Mary had been aware of the possibility that Sir William might have no idea why the order had been given but when she saw the additional guards arrive, she knew that there was more going on here than she knew.

She could have believed that Anne, in a fit of spite, had taken it into her head to coax the King into curtailing Mary's freedom even more than it already was, citing some pretext or another or feigning fear that Mary would somehow find a way to harm her or one of her children if the King did not order the new restrictions but surely even she wouldn't go so far as to more than double the number of guards stationed at the More to ensure that their prisoner, one young woman, did not escape her captivity and Mary's father would not agree to it even if she did. If nothing else, he would not want Mary's household expenses to be increased.

Something else had to be happening.

Losing the opportunity to enjoy exercise and fresh air outdoor was a loss that she greatly regretted; her walks and her rides were the closest thing she had to a few hours of freedom, despite the fact that she was always accompanied by guards and chaperoned by Lady Margaret but she was more concerned about why it was that even the grounds of the More were now forbidden to her, why the manor house itself was now to be the extent of her world.

It was times like this that she truly missed Susan.

Her former maid could easily have been coaxed into investigating the matter as much as possible, listening intently to any gossip, seeking out the other servants at the More to find out what they knew about what was happening and then to return to Mary with the information.

Her new maid, a young woman about her own age named Joan Farley, was as different from her predecessor as she could possibly be. Where Susan was slightly built, with an almost fragile air, Joan was tall and as strong as a man. Where Susan was almost pathetically eager to please, Joan performed her duties efficiently and well but seemed to have no interest in ingratiating herself with Mary by taking on additional tasks in the hopes of pleasing her. Where Susan was shy and easily intimidated, scarcely daring to meet Mary's eyes and never speaking before she was spoken to, Joan clearly had no intention of allowing herself to be bullied or overawed.

When the young woman was first brought to the More and Lady Margaret introduced her as Mary's new maid, Mary was very glad of her arrival, since the weeks when she was left without a maid had been inconvenient for her to say the least but, despite the fact that she was well aware that it could mean that the newcomer would be dismissed if they were caught, and that she might even lose the privilege of having a personal attendant altogether, Mary's pride and her sense of what was right and fitting still prompted her to try to repeat her success with Susan as soon as she and Joan were concerned.

She had not expected that the other girl would give in easily when she first refused to acknowledge her words and her attempts to assist her as long as she used the hated title of 'Lady', making it plain, even without saying so, that she would not accept Joan's services until she addressed her by her true title but Joan's response astonished her.

_"Lady Margaret warned me that you might try some such nonsense, my lady." Joan said bluntly, laying a pointed stress on the last two words. "She told me that you were able to get the last one to call you whatever you wanted her to call you and that she was dismissed for it but you'll not be able to do the same with me, **Lady** Mary."_

_" **Princess** Mary. You will call me that, or Your Highness or Your Grace, if you are more comfortable with one of those." Mary felt almost like stamping her foot as she looked at her new maid, listing the styles that she was willing to answer to her, frustrating welling up inside her as she looked at Joan's broad, calm face, seeing that she was unimpressed and unmoved by her words. "I am ordering you to do so. I am the Princess of Wales, the rightful heir to the throne and the King's only legitimate child – his trueborn daughter by his **true** wife, Queen Katherine. His Holiness declared their marriage valid and he speaks for God!"_

_"That's none of my business, my lady." Joan said with a shrug, not one whit impressed by Mary's declaration. It was as though she truly did not care whether she was serving the Princess of Wales or the King's bastard daughter and perhaps this was the case. "Whatever you are and whatever you believe yourself to be, His Majesty the King has given orders that you are to be known as Lady Mary, so that is why I will call you." When she saw that Mary looked ready to object, to renew her insistence on her title as Princess, she frowned, her tone firm and slightly sharp as she continued. "If I disobey His Majesty's orders, then I'll be dismissed, at the very least. I'll not take the risk of losing my post just to pander to your vanity, Lady Mary."_

Had she had the power to order her maid dismissed, insisting that Sir William and Lady Margaret see to it that somebody else was engaged, somebody who would treat her with proper respect, Mary would have done so. She was appalled by the way Joan had spoken to her, that she had dared to treat her with a level of disrespect that none of the other servants, conscious of the fact that she was the King's daughter, would ever have dared to.

When she had her own royal household as the Princess of Wales, nobody had ever dared to treat her with anything less than the deference her royal rank demanded, and they would never have considered speaking to her as Joan had. Even the maidservant of the wife or daughter of an ordinary country squire would never dare to speak to her mistress like that, knowing that if she did, it would not be long before she found herself dismissed in disgrace.

However, as indignant as she was over the way Joan had spoken to her, she knew better than to make any complaint to Sir William or to Lady Margaret. They had not been pleased about the situation with Susan, far from it, or over the fact that they had had to send for Master Cromwell and to explain to him what Mary had been doing while she was under their charge, knowing that there was a very real possibility that they would be accused of being negligent in their duty of vigilance. The search for a maid had taken several weeks, longer than Mary would have expected it to, and even though her rational side knew that it was unlikely that they would do so, part of her had wondered whether the inconvenience that this had caused her was intended, at least in part, as a punishment for the trouble she had caused them.

If she complained about Joan, it was unlikely that they would pay any attention to her, especially when her chief complaint was that her new maid refused to address her by a title that was forbidden to her, refused to treat her with the deference due to a princess, something they insisted she was not. If anything, her complaints would convince them of the fact that they had chosen wisely when they engaged Joan to wait on her, that they would be relieved to know that at least they had no reason to fear a repetition of what had happened with Susan, that this was a girl she would not be able to intimidate or manipulate.

When she first met Joan, Mary had not expected that a time would come when she would ever appreciate her maid's company but, to her surprise, she was coming to value her companionship. Like most women of her class, Joan had not had the opportunity to be educated but she had a sharp mind and a keen wit, and while it irritated Mary that the girl would not address her by her proper title, Joan was friendly, perhaps more friendly than a maidservant should be towards somebody whose station was so far above hers, and good at understanding when Mary wanted company and when she would rather be left to her own thoughts.

When she entered her bedchamber, Joan was busy changing the linens on the bed and greeted her with a smile and a quick bend of the knee. "My lady."

"Eight more of the King's soldiers arrived today," Mary remarked, moving across to the window and looking out onto the grounds, where the soldiers were patrolling. "And another eight yesterday. Something is happening, I know it is." Joan nodded slightly by way of response but she didn't say anything. Mary continued to look out the window, wondering what could possibly be happening that would merit such added precautions.

Had her cousin, the Emperor, decided at last to renew his support for her?

As disappointing as it had been when she learned that her cousin, her mother's own nephew, had decided that he would no longer work to champion her rights, prevailing upon her father to restore her to her rightful place as his legitimate heir, she understood that there were practical reasons for his choice and she prayed that when the time was right, when the Emperor was no longer so in need of her father's support and friendship that he could not risk antagonizing him by either championing Mary or by refusing to acknowledge Anne and her children, he would once more push for her restoration, and this time he would succeed.

Her father might want to call his son by Anne the Prince of Wales and his legitimate heir but he would be given no alternative but to restore Mary's rights and, deep down, she was certain that he would be pleased to do so, and that he would come to recognize that it was the right thing for him to do.

Maybe Master Cromwell's spies had received intelligence about the possibility that the Emperor would send his own people to England, to rescue her from captivity and to bring her back to Spain, where he could see to it that she was honoured as befitted his cousin and the Princess of Wales and, when her father died, he could send her back to England with an army to claim the throne that would be hers by right.

When that time came, she would make sure that Elizabeth and little Harry would be well taken care of and well provided for.

"They're afraid that my cousin will come for me." She murmured quietly, not intending her words for Joan's ears, or any others save her own.

Joan stopped her work immediately, staring at Mary with wide grey eyes that betrayed her fear over what she had just heard. "You should pray that he does not, my lady." She recommended soberly.

"Why?" Mary demanded. "I am certain that my cousin, the Emperor, is angry to know that I am being kept as a prisoner in this place and that he intends to see to it that I am freed."

Joan forbore to point out that the Emperor had seemingly been willing to allow Mary to be kept as a prisoner at the More for more than three years, without once interceding on her behalf, with his ambassador visiting no more than twice, maybe three times a year. "You are in this place because it is believed that you are disloyal, Lady Mary, and because His Majesty believed that you incited men to murder the Queen." Joan believed her mistress when she insisted that she had not had anything to do with the attempt made on the Queen's life when she was carrying little Prince Harry but she also knew that Mary's guilt was irrelevant as long as her father believed her to be guilty. "If you weren't the King's own daughter, you would be worse off by far," she reminded her. "Right now, they are happy to leave you here in peace but it will be a different matter if they think that there is a risk that people will fight for you against His Majesty. That would be treason and they'd call you a pretender to the throne."

She didn't need to elaborate any further. It was well known what the likely fate of those who sought to place themselves on the throne ahead of their sovereign.

Much as Mary loved her father, much as she had to believe he loved her, she knew that if he thought that there was a risk that people might seek to place her on the throne ahead of him, there was a very real possibility that he would order her execution.

It might pain him to sign her death warrant – she was sure that it would – but he would sign, and he would not allow himself to regret doing so.

* * *

**_25th August 1539_ **

The shouts were almost deafening when the windows were open, and clearly audible when they were closed. Despite his best efforts, he could not ignore them, and each shout filled him with a foreboding that he could not force from his mind.

This was the last thing he had wanted to happen.

Cromwell had not expected the rebellion at Louth Abbey to spread to other religious houses and, when it did, he had not known what he should do, an unusual state of affairs for him, to say the least, or what he should advise the King to do.

It was all very well for the Duke of Norfolk to advocate taking advantage of the fact that the Queen was well thought of amongst the rebels and the fact that they were certain to be tempted by the prospect that the disputed religious houses were to be placed in her charge, for her to devise a way to use them to benefit their communities, but Cromwell believed that it was something that would only be able to help matters in the short term. In the long term, it would cause them even more problems than they had already had if they made a habit of allowing the people to dictate the fates of the religious houses.

For the sake of the whole country, it was necessary that they ensure that the King's treasury was as full as they could possibly make it. The more money the Crown had at its disposal, the lower the taxes they would need to impose on the people in order to meet their needs, which would help to keep the people happy. As well as that, it would also ensure that they had the resources to ensure that, should the need arise, they would be able to fend off any attacks by a foreign power against England.

The Queen railed at him about using their reformation for personal gain, insisting that the property that was confiscated from the corrupt religious houses should be devoted to causes like education and poor relief, but she didn't seem to understand what it was he was doing. It would be a lie to say that Cromwell had not benefited materially from the closures of the religious houses, but what he kept for himself was a small fraction of the wealth they generated, scarcely more than the value of the properties given over to the Queen so that she could indulge her idealism.

The lion's share of the wealth he had generated would help ensure Anne's own position, along with that of her children, both of whom were still considered bastards by both the Bishop of Rome and those who followed his teachings, blindly accepting every decision he made as divinely inspired and believing him when he claimed that the Lady Mary, the King's bastard daughter, was the sole rightful heiress to the throne. What he was doing would protect their interests but she didn't seem to

There was still a risk that the Bishop of Rome would follow through on his threat to excommunicate the King and, while Cromwell certainly did not believe that this would mean that Henry was doomed to eternity in purgatory once he died, it could have serious political implications if the man who dared to call himself God's representative decided to incite a foreign prince to wage war against England and to dethrone the King.

As well as that, there was also a risk that if anything happened to the King, especially while the Prince of Wales was still a young child, the Emperor would seek to invade the country and champion his cousin as a pretender to the throne.

By making sure that the King would never have any reason to worry about the state of his treasury, by making sure that if a time came when there was a need to raise an army to defend the rights of the royal family, they would have the resources at their disposal to fund that army and to ensure that whoever posed a threat to the safety of the royal family or to England's sovereignty would soon realize that they had made a grave error.

Nobody seemed to understand what it was that he intended to accomplish and Cromwell could tell from the King's demeanour over the past few days that he blamed him for this rebellion, at least in part, and that if he was not able to ensure a swift and satisfactory resolution, he would soon be following in the footsteps of other men, once loyal servants of the King, who failed to satisfy their royal master and who paid the price for their failure.

When the Duke of Suffolk was sent to gather a troop of men and to go with them to Louth Abbey to put an end to their rebellion, once and for all, Cromwell hoped that Brandon would be successful and that if they could make an example of the men setting up a siege at Louth Abbey, the men who had started all this trouble, the other rebels would quickly abandon their own stands.

Brandon had not taken enough men with him.

Judging speed to be more important than numbers, and not considering the group of farmers to be any major threat to properly armed men, Brandon had travelled to Lincolnshire accompanied by barely twenty men, confident that that would be more than enough to deal with the Louth Abbey rebellion, but he had underestimated both the number of men taking part in the rebellion and their determination not to yield, even if it cost them their lives.

Although their weapons were crude, they were able to fend off Brandon and his men, killing several of them and wounding others, until Brandon felt that they had no option but to retreat.

The King was angry and disappointed with his friend when he learned of this but that was not the gravest problem that they were facing, not by a long shot.

When this business began, the last thing that Cromwell wanted was for knowledge of what was happening in Lincolnshire to spread but after Brandon's unsuccessful attempt to quell the Louth Abbey rebellion, word of what was going on spread like wildfire and, when the people of London learned of it, their anger was great, especially when they learned that the King had consented to allow troops to be sent to fight against simple farmers, men who had only ever wanted to protect the monastery that had been at the heart of their communities for so long.

Crowds were thronging outside the palace now, crying out in protest, shouting that the abbeys should be left alone and the rebels allowed to return to their fields unmolested. They shouted against Cromwell, calling him greedy and impious and, worst of all, they were shouting against the King as a tyrant, condemning him for what was happening.

The King was so used to being popular among his people, liked and respected. Since the death of the Princess Dowager and the birth of the Prince of Wales, the people had been happy with their sovereign and with his family. Katherine was forgotten, and her daughter Mary might have died with her, given how little attention was being paid to her.

Now, because of this rebellion, everything was changing and not for the better.

It would not be long now before the King started looking for somebody to blame.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

**_28th August 1539_ **

Cromwell had predicted that if he ignored the crowds outside the palace, if he did not acknowledge their angry shouting or respond to it and if he did not go out to the courtyard where they could see him, the people who thronged outside the gates of Whitehall, shouting against him as a tyrant who was willing to persecute honest, hard-working men for doing what they believed to be right and crying out for the remaining monasteries to be spared so that they could continue their good work, would dissipate within a couple of days, once they realized that he had no intention of indulging them in their unseemly displays but Henry now realized that his chancellor had been greatly mistaken and that they might all suffer for his error in judgement unless they found a way to turn the tide, quickly.

Not only was the crowd not dissipating, even after three full days, it seemed to be growing, with more and more people flocking to join those who were already protesting, once they saw that the soldiers had made no attempt to stop them doing so – Henry _had_ been very tempted to order that the soldiers who guarded Whitehall should go out and force the protesters to disperse but, to a man, his council had strongly advised against that, alarmed at the suggestion and believing that it would only make matters worse if he did that, none of them daring to point out that even if he tried, the palace guards were vastly outnumbered by the people outside the gates – and today, the fourth day since protesters began to gather outside, it seemed as though the palace was surrounded by an army of people, all of them angry.

He was afraid.

He hated to admit it but it was true.

It was absurd for a King, chosen and anointed by God, to fear the people he had been given the governance of. He was their sovereign and within his realm, his laws were God's laws and his subjects owed a duty of obedience and loyalty to him, just as they owed a duty of faith to God himself but, even so, he was afraid when he saw the sheer numbers of people gathered outside the palace, outside his home, and heard them shouting against him, afraid that they might take it a step further and seek to force their way past the gates, to get to him and do… God only knew what they might do. Feelings were running high and he felt that he couldn't be sure of what his people were capable of.

Brandon had returned from Lincolnshire yesterday, abashed, and Henry suspected that the other man had stalled on his journey back to London as much as he possibly could, without actually stopping or turning back, in order to forestall the inevitable moment when he would have to stand before his sovereign and his friend and beg his forgiveness for his failure, a failure that might easily have been avoided if he had had the sense to wait a few days longer so that he could gather more men together, enough to crush the rebellion at Louth Abbey once and for all.

Henry was inclined to rail at his friend when he saw him kneeling in front of him, head bowed, but he did not. He controlled his temper with difficulty, commanding the other man to go and change out of his travelling clothes, wash and return, so that they could find a way to minimize the impact of the damage his failure had caused, an order that Brandon was all too willing to obey.

Several of his nobles, including his brother-in-law, were eager to volunteer to travel to Lincolnshire themselves at the head of a larger fighting force, to succeed where Brandon had failed and put an end to this rebellion once and for all but, as tempting as that was, Henry knew better than to accept. It had gone beyond the point where he could rely on military intervention to solve his problem, not now that so many of the people of London were crying out against him for utilizing it against the rebels in the first place. If he stepped up his campaign against the rebels, if he sent more troops to crush them, then there was a very real risk that the crowd gathered outside the palace, who had until now contented themselves with shouting, might turn violent.

At Cromwell's urging, Henry had remained within the palace, insisting that Anne do the same, which meant that they could not ride out together or hunt and, if they wished to go for a walk in the gardens, they needed to ensure that they were accompanied by guards at all times to ensure their safety, just in case some of the protesters managed to slip into the grounds and might be willing to threaten them or harm them.

They were prisoners in their own court, with no sign of when the threat would be over.

Henry had never experienced anything like it, not since the days of his childhood when his father's claim to the throne was threatened by pretenders, some of whom were able to amass far too much support for Henry the Seventh's peace of mind, or that of his family. Nobody had never explained what was happening to the young inhabitants of the royal nursery but, even so, they were always able to sense when something was happening that troubled the adults around them. When he first sought to annul his marriage to Katherine, ending the curse of sonlessness that he was under and freeing himself to marry Anne at a stroke, he was afraid that there would be rebellions then, as Katherine had managed to make herself very popular among the people, but that had not happened then and, when she died, he believed that they were safe from the threat of war and of civil uprising.

He had thought that his family was safe now, with Katherine dead and with Mary in exile at the More, unable to try to harm them again but he had simply been lulled into a false sense of security, with trouble brewing beneath the surface, ready to erupt at any moment.

And Cromwell was the one who had caused that eruption, Cromwell with his constant urging to suppress every monastery, priory and convent in England, regardless of whether they were corrupt or if they had received a good report from the inspectors sent to investigate them, stripping them of their assets and casting the monks and nuns out to make their way in the world as best they could. It was so easy for Cromwell to say that the religious houses needed to be closed and that their wealth should be diverted to the royal treasury; he was just the servant in this matter, even if he did hold one of the highest offices in England, and it would be his master, Henry himself, who had to endure the sound of the people's complaints against him, who couldn't stir a step from Whitehall for fear that he might be hurt, or worse.

And they were left so vulnerable!

With his people so discontented, now would be a ripe opportunity for the Bishop of Rome to try to bully another monarch into bringing an army to England to overthrow Henry, or for the Emperor to turn on him, showing his true colours by trying to place Henry's bastard daughter on his throne, taking advantage of his weakness in a time of crisis.

He had ordered that the number of people guarding the Lady Mary should be doubled, sending Sir William Forester, her keeper, strict instructions that if it appeared as though there was a chance that an attempt might be made to free the girl from her captivity, she was to be conveyed at once to London to lodge in the Tower, where she could be more closely guarded, and where they could make sure that she had no opportunity to communicate with her cousin or with anybody else, to give her consent to their plans or to encourage them in any way. He also stressed that under no circumstances could Mary be permitted to receive any visitors or to send any letters, warning Sir William to be vigilant at all times and to ensure that Mary was given no opportunity to communicate with anybody outside the More, either personally or through one of her servants.

The last thing he needed was to have his obstinate daughter seeking to rally supporters to back her in her absurd, oft-repeated claim that she was his legitimate heiress, instead of the ungrateful, disobedient bastard she was in truth. He had been merciful with Mary before, both when she refused to take the Oath, as all English subjects were obliged to, refusing to accept Archbishop Cranmer's verdict on the invalidity of Henry's marriage to her mother, and when she became involved in a plot to murder Anne and the unborn Harry. Perhaps it had been a mistake on his part to be so lenient with her then; perhaps he should have fought to keep his fatherly love for the girl from influencing his judgement and keeping him from doing what he knew he should do but if she tried anything again, if she attempted to commit treason by setting herself up as a pretender against him, or claimed to be heir to the throne ahead of Harry and Elizabeth, he would not make the same mistake again.

Even a father's lenience and mercy had its limits.

He badly wanted to be able to shield Anne from the knowledge of what was happening, at least as much as possible, not wanting her to worry about it or for her to be frightened but there was no way that he could keep this from her, not when the shouting could be heard from her apartments and although he did his best to reassure her that there was nothing to worry about and that it would soon blow over, if he couldn't convince himself of that, he knew that he wouldn't be able to convince her and he was starting to wonder whether it was fair for him to try to lull her into a false sense of security in the first place, or if he even needed to.

Anne was being so brave about it all.

When the crowds first started to gather, she was afraid for their children, asking that a company of guards be sent to Hatfield to supplement the existing arrangements made for Harry and Elizabeth's protection and she was worried about them – though thankfully the royal children's household had been left unmolested, with the protesters deciding against involving innocent little children in the affair – but she hadn't been afraid for her own safety, and even when he suggested that it might be safer for her to leave Whitehall for a while, to travel to Hatfield with her ladies and to remain there until this blew over, she declined the offer, telling him that her place was by his side and that she would rather stay with him, no matter what happened.

He probably should have commanded her to go, for her own sake, but he didn't want her to leave. He needed to have her here, with him, especially now.

He winced slightly at the sound of a particularly loud shout from below, clearly audible even through the glazed windows, calling out against him as a tyrant.

How long would this continue?

* * *

**_30th August 1539_ **

"You want me to leave?" Henry could scarcely believe his ears and, for a moment, he was tempted to shout at Norfolk for suggesting such a thing, for even thinking that he would go along with such a cowardly plan, insisting that he had no intention of allowing himself to be intimidated into running away from Whitehall, from his own court, like a frightened rabbit… but the idea was a sensible one, he had to admit it, much as he hated the thought, and a tempting one.

Contrary to Cromwell's predictions and his own hopes, the shouting against him had not gone down. It had escalated, with more people and more shouting. The crowd seemed to be multiplying by the hour, along with the volume. There had already been several incidents where people had managed to force their way past the guards stationed at the gate and into the courtyard, trying to force their way into his presence, and they were fortunate that the only damage that had been done so far was that a few windows had been broken when one man, in his anger, had thrown fistfuls of stones at them but Henry knew that it could have been much worse.

The idea of leaving Whitehall, even leaving London altogether to stay in another of the royal palaces, one that could be more easily guarded and fortified, until things had settled down might be their best course of action, and Henry was reluctant to dismiss Norfolk's suggestion, unable to forget that the other man had differed from the rest of the Privy Council as far as proposals for how to deal with the rebellions went, or to convince himself that his suggestion would not have succeeded if he had listened to him then. They certainly hadn't benefited from going with the idea of using military force and, if he could turn back the clock, Henry thought that he might have liked to follow Norfolk's advice and see if his plan would prove to be more successful. He doubted that it could possibly have proven to be less successful.

Unfortunately, they had gone past the point where the rebels could be pacified by Norfolk's proposed compromise, appealing to the respect they had for Anne's work. It was too late for that.

"I think that it would be best, for the time being, for your own safety and the Queen's, Your Majesty." Norfolk said cautiously, laying a slight stress on the word Queen, knowing Henry well enough to be sure that, while he would balk at anything he believed to be cowardice, he was protective of Anne and would be pleased to be able to tell himself that it was _her_ safety that was his sole consideration, pretending that he had never had any fears for himself and, if Norfolk knew his King, succeeding in convincing himself of this. "While Your Majesties remain at court, I have no doubt that these demonstrations will continue. The crowds will continue to try to get your attention and to force you to listen to their grievances as long as you are in London. It is my belief that it would be in everybody's best interests, yours and the Queen's in particular, if you were to leave for a time, and to remove to a residence that can be more easily fortified and guarded."

"I agree with His Grace," Boleyn said, managing to hide the resentful note in his voice, albeit with difficulty, feeling that he should have been the one to propose such a retreat from Whitehall. Anne was his daughter, after all, and he should have been the one suggesting ways to protect her but his brother-in-law must be taking some kind of pleasure in showing him up before the King and the rest of the Privy Council, as though he wanted to make them believe that Anne was closer to her uncle than she was to her father.

"As do I, Your Majesty." Cromwell chimed in, feeling apprehensive when Henry frowned in his direction but doing a masterful job of concealing his feelings. Norfolk was right that it would be safer if the royal couple moved to the security of one of the other royal residences, where they could stay in safety while this matter was dealt with, removed from the angry crowd and from the danger it posed to them. The King and his Privy Council could communicate easily enough and it was unlikely that any but the most determined members of the crowd outside would undertake to follow them, leaving their homes, families and work behind for no better reason than to shout against their sovereign.

He doubted that Anne was in any danger, the rebels' high opinion of her and her work did not seem to have wavered but he couldn't help but be afraid for the King. All it would take would be for one of the protesters, one with angry, violent inclinations, to force his way past the guards with the intention of doing harm to the King's person, and Henry could be hurt or worse. If he died, the Prince of Wales was a child of only three years, which would mean a long Regency for the Queen, and over a decade before he could marry, during which time the Princess Elizabeth would be the heir to the throne, and the possibility that the Lady Mary could pose trouble for them could not be discounted; even if the majority of English people were far from inclined to champion her as a potential heir since her disgrace over the attempt to poison the Queen, either the Emperor or the Bishop of Rome might try to intercede on her behalf, especially if her rival was a little child, and he couldn't be sure that she did not have enough supporters within the country to allow her to make trouble for them.

They needed to see to it that the King was properly protected.

"Very well," Henry said after a few minutes' pause, sighing as he went over the potential places of refuge in his mind, wanting to choose one that was close enough to London to allow him to communicate regularly with the members of the Privy Council who were to be left behind at Whitehall, yet far enough away to ensure that he and Anne would be safe, and in an area that was remote enough so that they would not need to worry about the prospect of a new crowd of protesters forming. He also needed some place that could be well-defended, in the event that they were attacked there, somewhere large enough to accommodate them and the attendants that they would need to bring with them to tend to their needs and preferably one with secure, enclosed grounds, in case they needed to remain there for some time, in which case he would want to be able to spend some of his time outdoors, even if he was limited to the gardens for safety reasons. It didn't take him long to choose a place. "Richmond." He said at last, naming a palace that he had not set foot in for years, nodding towards Cromwell. "You will send a message at once, by the fastest man we have, and the Queen and I will set out straight away."

With the shouting of the protesters outside seeming to become louder and louder by the hour, as the crowds grew larger and larger, he didn't want to delay. If they were going to leave, they needed to do so immediately.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Cromwell bowed his acquiescence, his calm expression revealing nothing of the concern he felt at the thought that the King and Queen were likely to set off only a couple of hours after the messenger was dispatched, at most, bound for a royal residence in which none of the court had set foot for years. Like all of the royal properties, it had a staff of servants there, whose duty it was to ensure that the palace was kept clean and in order so that, if it was the King's pleasure, or the Queen's, to pay a visit there, they would arrive to find the place in readiness but, while he often sought to ensure that those employed in the royal service were diligent workers, people who would keep up with their duties, regardless of whether or not they expected their royal master to visit, Cromwell was well aware of the fact that many of the men and women who staffed places like Richmond, which were seldom if ever visited, were frequently lazy in their work and he dreaded to think of Henry's likely reaction if he found the place ill-prepared for his arrival.

However, that was among the least of their problems.

Satisfied the Cromwell would be able to make the necessary arrangements, Henry rose, making his way to Anne's apartments, knowing that if they were going to go, they needed to go as soon as they possibly could. There was no sense in wasting time.

Her ladies rose when he entered, curtseying deeply, while Beau leapt down from the velvet cushion on which he was dozing, running to sit at Henry's feet, expecting to be praised, petted or even given a treat, his tail wagging excitedly, although the wagging stopped when Henry ignored him, stepping over him to reach Anne's side. Beau's tail drooped in disappointment as he plodded slowly across the room after him.

"We need to go away for a while, until these demonstrations die down." Henry said without preamble, bending to take Anne's two hands in his and tug her to her feet, giving her a gentle push in the direction of her bedchamber. "Change into your travelling clothes, we need to leave as soon as possible, within the hour if we can – you can begin to pack some of Her Majesty's things." He instructed two of the ladies in a clipped tone. "Enough for at least a week or so," he added, not knowing how long they would need to be away. If it turned out that they needed to stay longer, they could send back to Whitehall for the things they would need but, for now, they needed to travel quickly and that meant that they could not overburden themselves with luggage. He turned his attention back to Anne. "Choose two of your ladies to accompany you." He would bring two of his own grooms with him to tend to his personal needs. It was probably best if they minimized the number of people travelling with them, instead of having a large procession.

"Of course." Anne nodded comprehension, moving in to her bedchamber and calling for Madge to help her change into one of her riding habits, a simpler, less cumbersome outfit that she would find far more comfortable than her usual gowns if she was travelling for a long time. Henry followed, averting his eyes as Madge started to unlace the back of her gown. "Where are we going?"

"Richmond." Henry responded, giving her a quick smile. "It's easily fortified, so we'll be safe there." He promised her. Beau trotted into the bedchamber after them, barking to get their attention. He bent down to lift the puppy up, tickling his belly briefly before setting him down again. "He's your shadow." He remarked to Anne, amused to see how devoted the little animal was to her, unwilling to stray far from her side if he could possibly avoid doing so. When Lady Lisle, eager to win the favour of her King, had invited him to take his pick of the litter of puppies her spaniel was delivered of, he knew that Anne, who had been devastated when Purkoy, her other dog, had died, would love one of them and, as soon as he saw Beau, the smallest of the puppies but the most alert, with the brightest eyes and the silkiest fur, he knew at once that he was the one and he was right. Anne fell in love with the puppy as soon as she saw him and he returned her adoration with a devotion that more than a few of their courtiers would have done well to emulate.

"May we take him with us?" Anne asked, smiling fondly at her puppy and knowing that he would pine if he was left behind, especially if they had to be away for a long time. When she travelled to Hatfield for the day and Beau stayed behind, she always heard from her ladies that he was miserable and moping from the moment she left until she returned.

"If you like." Henry gave her a quick kiss before making his way to his own rooms to change and to choose two of his attendants to accompany him. "Hurry up. We'll need to leave quickly."

Within an hour, when they met in the courtyard, they were both dressed for travelling, with Anne accompanied by Madge Shelton and Nan Saville, while two of Henry's grooms followed him. From his place in Anne's arms, Beau barked insistently, not pleased in the least to see the crowds or to hear their shouting, issuing barked warnings to anybody who might dare to threaten his mistress. Three carriages were ready and waiting for them; one for Henry and Anne, one for their attendants and a third to carry the members of his Privy Council that Henry had selected to accompany them.

Cromwell had wanted to go with them, asking that he be allowed to stay with Henry in order that he might serve him as best he could but Henry had disagreed, thinking that it would be better for his Lord Chancellor to stay behind, so that he could maintain order as best he could, and thinking that Cromwell would be justly served if he had to stay to listen to people shouting against him, especially since his plans had caused all of this trouble in the first place. Norfolk would come with them instead, to act as his chief advisor and the two Boleyn men, along with Cranmer would also join him, while Brandon would act as a go-between, ferrying messages back and forth between Richmond and Whitehall.

At first, Henry was very tempted to forego the carriage and to ride on horseback instead, preferring to ride out in the open air, which he had not had an opportunity to do for too long, than to travel cooped up in a carriage which, while comfortably upholstered with velvet cushions, was always too warm and too stuffy for his liking, particularly for long journeys but the sight of the crowd watching them gave him second thoughts.

They looked angry, their shouting growing louder at the sight of their King, their clamouring increasing as they attempted to push past the guards holding them back and to storm the courtyard.

The four councillors accompanying them had climbed into their carriage, upon which the trunks containing their belongings were already stowed, while Henry's grooms and Anne's ladies waited for their master and their mistress to climb into the royal carriage before they would climb into theirs.

Later, they couldn't be sure how it had happened and they never found out who it was.

It all happened so quickly; the sentries outside the palace were doing their best to try to hold back the crowds and to clear a path through which the carriages would be able to exit Whitehall and get on their way when there was a sudden scuffle, and before anybody could see what was happening, much less stop it, a missile flew in Henry's direction, striking him on the side of the face, the blow hard enough to send him reeling, almost knocking him off his feet.

When he touched his cheek, he could feel that it was wet and when he pulled his fingers away and looked at them, they were stained red.

The stone that had struck him landed at his feet, grey and jagged with its edges darkened by his blood.

A group of guards and courtiers hastily positioned themselves between him and the crowd, their bodies serving as shields, protecting him from another attack while the sentries holding back the crowd tried to discover who had dared to attempt to harm their sovereign King, though they surely must have known that their chances of being able to pick out one person from that crowd were so slim as to make the effort utterly futile.

"Henry!" Alarmed, Anne hastened to his side, cupping his chin in one hand and examining the cut, her eyes wide with fear and concern. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

He was too shaken to manage a smile to reassure her but he clasped her hand, kissing her fingers tenderly before looking over the shoulders of the men blocking him from the crowd, afraid that he might see another stone flying in his direction, and a third. "I'm fine – get into the carriage, quickly." He ordered urgently, pushing her towards it. They needed to get out of there, now, and could not afford to dally a moment longer.

In Madge's arms, Beau barked loudly, alert to the possible threat and, despite her best efforts to hold him firmly, he was determined to escape and he wriggled out of her grasp, making a beeline for the crowd and barking angrily at them, as though to scold them for daring to pose a threat to his mistress or to the man he knew she loved.

As Norfolk had said, he was a fine watchdog, and very protective.

"Beau!" Seeing her puppy, so small that he might be crushed underfoot by a misstep, disappearing among the legs of the crowd, Anne pulled away from Henry to run after him, to rescue him before he could be harmed, filling Henry with terror that she too might be hurt. He chased after her, to bring her back to safety, afraid that they might turn on her too, but he need not have bothered.

As soon as Anne pushed past the courtiers blocking her from view, the shouting quieted. It did not die down altogether but quite a few of the people stopped shouting, some of them removing their caps or bowing their heads slightly as Anne came closer, an example that was followed by others and a sight that amazed many of the courtiers who witnessed it, particularly those who were present for Anne's coronation day, when scarcely anybody was willing to bare their head as she passed, or to offer any other gesture of respect to their soon to be crowned Queen.

One man, who looked to be in his early twenties and who was shabbily clad, pushed his way through the crowd, his arms wrapped around a small bundle of silky fur, which set up a cacophony of excited barking when he saw his mistress. The guards held him back, unwilling to let him pass, checking to see if he had a weapon of some kind that he might try to use again the Queen.

"Let him through." Anne commanded, feeling irritated when her command was not immediately obeyed, with the guards looking to Henry for confirmation instead, not wanting to take any chances by following Anne's order without his approval. When he nodded, the man was allowed to pass and he bowed low as he passed Beau into her arms, scarcely daring to meet her eyes. "Thank you." She said quietly, kissing the top of Beau's silky head and calling for Nan to come over to her, asking for her purse of money in a hushed whisper. When Nan handed it to her, she pressed a fistful of gold sovereigns into the man's hand, closing his fingers around them.

For any of the nobles at court, let alone the Queen, the sum she had given was a paltry one but for the man who received it, it was a small fortune, more than he could hope to earn in a year and his eyes were wide as he bowed again, yanking his cap from his head and stammering as he tried to bring his tongue under control so that he could give voice to his thanks. "God save you, Your Majesty!" He said at last, awed.

His words were echoed by many of the crowd, who called out blessings to her, signalling their support.

"God save Queen Anne!"

"We've naught against you, Your Majesty!"

"At least you _try_ , love."

Taking advantage of the momentary lull, Henry sprang forward to catch Anne by the arm and tug her towards their carriage, helping her into it and scrambling in behind her, anxious to be gone.

Thankfully, the crowd seemed to be willing to allow them to proceed without any further incident.

Once they were on the way, Anne set Beau down on the seat opposite them, fishing in the pocket of her riding habit for a clean handkerchief and pressing it against Henry's cheek, cleaning the blood away as gently as she could in order to be able to see the cut and to check the level of damage.

"It's deep." She said, concerned by the amount of blood that was trickling out of the cut and by the angry redness of the skin around it. "I think you're going to have an impressive bruise by tomorrow morning." She said, trying to make her voice sound light-hearted but unable to keep a quaver from it, especially when she saw where the stone had struck him, knowing how easy it would have been for it to have hit him somewhere else, where it might have done more damage. "Thank God that's all!" She said impulsively, wishing that she could take back what she had said as soon as the words were spoken and she saw Henry's dark frown.

"Yes." He said quietly, touching his cheek and wincing slightly. The stone hit him at the top of his right cheekbone. A little to the left, and it would have hit him in the eye. He might have lost an eye and that was not the worst that could have happened. Less than two inches higher, and it would have hit him in the temple – and a blow there could kill a man.

He could have died.

One of his own subjects could have killed him.

"Someone threw a stone at me." He muttered, half to Anne and half to himself. "At me – the King of England!"

Anne put her arms around him, hugging him and kissing him lightly on the lips, but she didn't say anything in response.

There was nothing she could say.

* * *

As Cromwell had feared, the servants responsible for the upkeep of Richmond Palace had allowed themselves to grow lax over the past years. Confident that the King was extremely unlikely to visit and that even if he did decide to come, they would be sent a message at least several days in advance, allowing them to do a hasty cleaning so that they would be ready.

Today, however, they were given under two hours' warning and, even with everybody working as hard and as fast as he or she could, they had no hope of being able to have the palace in the kind of order that it should have been kept so, when the call came that the carriages had been sighted, there were more than a few hearts that beat in apprehension as their owners lined up in the entrance hall, awaiting the arrival of the King, the Queen and the company of people who were joining them at Richmond, with anxious eyes searching out signs of disorder and dirt, praying that the King did not notice.

Fortune favoured them today. When Henry entered, Anne's arm tucked through his with Beau trotting at their heels, he seemed to barely notice his surroundings, a dark frown creasing his brow as he stalked inside, barely acknowledging the greeting of the chamberlain and barking a general order that rooms should be prepared for the men who had accompanied him and that his attendants and the Queen's should be lodged in rooms near the royal apartments, and that dinner should be brought to the royal apartments in an hour's time for himself and the Queen. After that, he escorted the Queen through the corridors to the apartments that, even after so long, he could still find without any trouble.

The royal apartments were spacious but sombre, with heavy carved furniture and walls panelled with dark wood and covered with tapestries, with a large, granite fireplace dominating one wall. The windows were narrow, allowing little light to illuminate the room.

A servant was kneeling before the fireplace when Henry and Anne entered the room, working busily to lay a fire. He sprang to his feet when they entered, bowing deeply, but Henry just waved impatiently for him to get back to his task, scowling as he looked around the apartment.

"I never liked this place." He muttered, shivering slightly. "It's always cold – how long does it take to light a fire?" He demanded of the servant, who started at the rebuke, piling logs into the fireplace as fast as he could and lighting a fire with coals from one of the braziers, waiting until it was burning merrily before rising, bowing deeply to Henry. "Yes, you can go now." Henry snapped at him, waving him away impatiently. Once they were alone, he sat down in one of the chairs in front of the fire, forcing himself to smile at Anne as she sat down in the one opposite him, with Beau plopping down at her feet and dozing off almost at once, before turning to stare into the fire, half mesmerized by the flickering flames. "This was my father's favourite residence." He said quietly. "We spent most of our time here when I was younger."

"I don't think I've been here before."

"You haven't." Henry sighed. "It's been years since I last came to this place." During the early years of their union, he and Katherine stayed there occasionally, despite the fact that neither of them had particularly pleasant memories of life there under his father's reign. It was there that their son, little Prince Henry, had had his first nursery... and there that he had died, after just twenty-six days of life. After that, he never wanted to stay there again and Whitehall became his permanent residence. "Before he was King, Father was Earl of Richmond. He named this palace for that title." He said, trying to drag his mind away from the painful subject of his lost son. His eyes darkened as he looked into the heart of the fire, a slight, wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "He rationed it – firewood." He elaborated, seeing the quizzical expression on Anne's face. "He was a very careful man when it came to his money... a miser, some people called him. They were right about that. He and my grandmother kept track of every farthing that was spent and they were always looking for ways to cut expenses in the royal household. Everybody had his allowance of firewood every day and they could not exceed it."

Anne said nothing, unsure if she was expected to respond or if Henry would rather just continue speaking uninterrupted, and privately feeling very thankful that her husband was not a miser as his father had been. Henry the Seventh's parsimonious nature was still remarked on occasionally by those courtiers who were old enough to remember what the court was like during his reign.

"This was his apartment," Henry continued, looking around and frowning at the dark panelled walls, and at the tapestries. "When he died, I ordered new tapestries to replace the moth-eaten ones that he wouldn't replace as long as they could still be mended, and new furniture in the Italian style, not the plain style he favoured but there's still nothing of me here. It's all him. We could tear this room apart and redecorate it in the most fashionable way, and it would still feel like his apartment. Look at this," he rose abruptly, extending a hand to help Anne to her feet and to lead her into the bedchamber, which was dominated by a huge, four poster bed hung with heavy velvet drapes, and over to a locked door at the far end of it. "Open it." He invited, when Anne didn't move, unsure what he meant to show her.

Puzzled by his behaviour, Anne turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door, revealing an inner chamber. The decoration was Spartan and it was completely bare, with whatever furniture that had been in it before had been removed. She thought that it might be a room meant for one of the King's attendants, a groom who would be obliged to sleep there throughout the night so that he might be on hand should his master require anything during the night, although it seemed larger than she would have expected it to be if that was its purpose, but before she could suggest that possibility, Henry spoke.

"It was my room." He said bluntly, regarding the chamber with a frown on his face for a few moments before shutting the door, locking it. "After Arthur died, when Father was left with only one son to be his heir, he gave orders that I was to sleep in a room adjoining his from then onwards, for my safety." His tone was bitter as he pronounced the last word, his anger towards his father still powerful, even after more than twenty years. "It was really so that he could keep his eye on me, to make sure that I was under his control in every way. He didn't want me to joust, or to learn to fence or to wrestle or anything like that. I couldn't do anything dangerous, anything that might put his heir at risk. He even chose the boys that I might spend time with. I might as well have been a prisoner in the Tower!"

After all the years that they had known one another, after six and a half years of marriage, Henry had never spoken to her about his past like that. He rarely mentioned his father, or spoke of what it had been like before his father died. He took her hand in his, guiding her over to the bed and sitting down on it, drawing her into his arms and onto his knee, playing with her hair with his free hand, breathing in the scent of the rose water she used to rinse her hair after it was washed, sitting with her in silence for a few moments before speaking again.

"I was so relieved when he died." He said, with a hint of defiance in his voice. "It was a sin but it's true. When he was dead, I was King and I was free." He frowned again, remembering one of the first things that he had done in the exhilaration of his newfound freedom. "He warned me not to marry Katherine, he told me that I should let her go back to Spain and look elsewhere for a wife." He touched Anne's cheek. "You were a little girl then, sweetheart." He remarked, thinking that, while his marriage to Katherine was accursed and while that meant that England's prince was now a boy of only three years instead of a man grown, one who might be married now with sons of his own, if it had not been for that union, he might never have been able to marry Anne at all. Had he married another princess, as several of his councillors, who did not consider the Spanish alliance to be near as valuable to England as it would have been during the lifetime of Katherine's mother, Queen Isabella, and who felt that there were better matches to be made, urged him to, back at a time when Anne was still a child, far too young to attract his attention and certainly not a girl who would have been considered as a potential bride for him, then that marriage would have been a valid one, blessed with sons and he would not have been a free man in the eyes of God when he met Anne, free to offer her marriage and to make their children the heirs to the throne.

God truly did work in mysterious ways.

"What's going to happen?" He asked quietly, pulling back a little so that he could look into her eyes, remembering how the crowd at Whitehall had stilled at her approach, how they were willing to throw stones at him and to shield the person who threw it, yet still called out blessings on Anne. As he once wished, it seemed that the people of England were finally coming to love and respect their Queen. "About the rebellion, the protesting, all of it?"

"I don't know." Anne answered honestly, unsure whether Henry wanted her to say that she had no idea what he should do, to pretend that the matter was beyond her understanding and to assure him that she was confident that he would find a solution, as she knew that most people would expect from one of her sex, or whether he was truly seeking any advice she could offer him about the best course of action to take. "There may still be a chance for a peaceful solution." She ventured after a few moments, thinking back to the discussions that she and her uncle had had on the subject since he first brought her word of the rebellion at Louth Abbey. "If the men who are rebelling feel that they have nothing to lose, if they think that they will be executed when it is over, even if they surrender peacefully tomorrow, then they will continue fighting. They'd rather die fighting, taking out as many of your soldiers as they can, than die as traitors – even if that's what they are." She added hastily, seeing from the expression on Henry's face that he was ready to object. "If they don't have any hope, they won't stop but if they think that there is a way to end this that will allow them _some_ victories, something that will make what they did worthwhile and let them feel that they have made a difference, even if it is only a minor difference, and that will allow them to be pardoned for their crimes, their lives spared..." She theorized aloud, trailing off when she saw the expression on Henry's face as he listened. There was no anger in his expression, just mingled affection and slight amusement, with a hint of respect. "What is it?" She asked, wondering if she had gone too far and offended him.

"When did you become so clever about strategies, my love?" Henry asked fondly, impressed by her grasp on the subject and thinking that her insight into the minds of the rebels was likely to be very accurate – certainly more accurate than Cromwell's reading of them. "If I had somebody with your understanding on my council from the beginning, maybe none of this would have happened." He remarked, frowning as he thought of his chancellor and of his constant urging to suppress the religious houses. "Cromwell... that man won't be happy until every religious house in England is shut down! It was supposed to be the corrupt ones, the ones who weren't doing anybody any good and the ones that were deceiving the people with false miracles and relics, the ones that _had_ to be closed for everybody's sake. Not all of them!"

"I know." Anne agreed, thinking on the argument that she had had with Cromwell on the subject, before Harry was born, and how angry and dismayed she had been to learn that the man she had thought of as one who shared her beliefs and her commitment to religious reform turned out to be a man with an agenda of his own, one in which personal gain played a large part.

"You had the right idea all along, you know." Henry remarked candidly, speaking the words that pride had kept bridled until now. "About finding uses for the monasteries that would be of benefit to the people, especially the poor, I mean – at least with some of the monasteries." He amended, thinking that even if Cromwell turned out to have been wrong about proceeding with his plans for the suppression of the monasteries as quickly and as thoroughly as he did, and about refusing to set aside any portion of the income derived from the sales of their property for the common good, it could not be denied that the royal treasury had benefited considerably from the closure of the religious houses, and he was honest enough to admit that, at least to himself, and to know that he would not choose to do without that added income, which was certain to be of use to him both in terms of his expenses when it came to running his household and his court and of building up a reserve of funds, in case they ever had grave need of financing for war or something like that, or to ensure that when the time came, Elizabeth would be the most richly dowered princess in Europe, a true prize for any prince, even if the Bishop of Rome persisted in slandering her as a bastard. "We wouldn't be here if I had."

"We can't know that." Anne said quickly, half-afraid that he might be angry that she had been right while he was wrong, and knowing that he hated to admit it when he had made mistakes. "It might have happened anyway."

Henry shook his head decisively. "I don't think so – don't look at me like that, sweetheart." He added, seeing the look of faint apprehension on Anne's face. "I'm not angry with you for being right, I'm angry that I didn't think of it myself. And my council, you'd think that one of them could have suggested it." He grumbled, ignoring the fact that Norfolk had made a point of praising Anne's efforts and of hinting that more properties could be placed at her disposal on more than one occasion, always stressing how much her work was appreciated by the people who benefited from it. "They should have known what would happen if we went ahead with Cromwell's plans and warned me about what it could mean. What else are they there for if not to advise me?" He kissed Anne's temple. "You've got more in this head than half my council put together."

"Only half?" Anne asked teasingly, letting out a peal of giggles when Henry tickled her.

"The cleverer half." Henry assured her with mock solemnity, fingering the material of her riding habit before tickling her again, enthralled by her laughter. the rebellion at Louth Abbey had begun under a fortnight ago but it felt as though it had been going on much, much longer and since it had begun, the court had been a sober place, especially once the crowd began to gather, shouting against him as a tyrant. It seemed as though his world had been devoid of laughter since then. Who knew when it would return to normal... or if it ever would?

Sensing his mood, Anne leaned forward to kiss him, stroking his cheek and planting another kiss, feather light, on the cut left by the stone. "My love." She said quietly, enjoying the feeling of being nestled in his arms again, the feeling that even though they were in a palace with many other people, they were still alone in a sense, cut off from the rest of the world with only each other. She rose from Henry's lap, gently pushing him to lie down on the bed and unlacing the collar of his shirt, revealing part of his muscular chest, before removing the jacket of her riding habit.

Henry's fingers were on her back, fumbling with the laces of her corset as he returned her kisses, with thoughts of the rebellion, of the crowds outside Whitehall and their flight to Richmond melting away, leaving only the two of them, their love and their desire.

Their bodies met and the rest of the world disappeared...

* * *

When the servers arrived, laden down with platters of food and jugs of wine for the King and Queen, the chamberlain who led the small procession was ready to knock on the door and ask permission to enter but, when he heard the sounds coming from within the royal apartments, he hesitated, frowning at two of the servants behind him when he heard their knowing titters.

There was no doubt in anybody's mind about what was going on in the room and, although the King had ordered that dinner should be brought to them within the hour, none of them thought that he would object if the meal was delayed a little longer.

* * *

**_3rd September 1539_ **

Although it was a mark of the King's favour that they were the ones selected to accompany him to Richmond while his other advisors were obliged to remain behind at Whitehall or, in the case of the Duke of Suffolk, to be given the ignoble task of messenger, ferrying letters back and forth between the two palaces, the men who were chosen to travel to Richmond with the royal couple and stay there with them so that they might advise the King were concerned about what the state of their sovereign's temper would be, and not unjustifiably so.

Even Norfolk, who was proud of the fact that he was the one singled out as Henry's chief advisor, knowing that it was a high mark of favour and a sign that, of all the council, he was the most trusted – something that Boleyn was far from pleased about, which made the honour of Norfolk's position a little sweeter – but even he had not been able to keep from feeling apprehensive about the mood that the King would be in for the duration of their stay at Richmond, knowing that he would not like being forced away from Whitehall and that there was a good chance that he would take his displeasure out on the men on his reduced council.

They had Anne to thank for the fact that the King's temper was far more even than they could have anticipated, and Norfolk was well aware of that and very pleased with his niece for it. No man at court could deny that before their marriage, Anne had wielded enormous influence at court, far more than any previous mistress of the King's – which was all the more ironic since, as they did not sleep together, she was not technically his mistress and the King himself would have denied that that title applied to her – but they also could not deny that her influence began to dwindle after the marriage, after their first child turned out to be a daughter and after she miscarried their second child. In the months preceding Harry's conception, and even during the early months of Anne's pregnancy, many courtiers seemed to feel that they could ignore the Queen and her wishes with impunity, as the King certainly seemed to, and instead of courting her approval, there were some who attempted to cultivate Mistress Seymour, doubting Anne's ability to bear a living son and believing that when she miscarried, she would soon be set aside in favour of the other woman, a prospect that more than a few found appealing.

It would be easy for somebody to assume that Anne's increased influence was due entirely to the fact that she had managed to bear the King a son who had survived his infancy and who, at three, was a sturdy, healthy child who had never been troubled by even the most trifling childhood ailment but, while Norfolk did not deny that Harry's safe arrival played its part, he believed that the main reason for Anne's renewed influence was that she had learned how to advise the King.

As a mistress, Anne could give her tongue free reign, could speak her mind about any matter she chose to voice an opinion on and be secure in the knowledge that the King was so besotted with her that he would listen to every word she said as though she possessed the wisdom of Solomon but a man would accept behaviour from a mistress that he would not be prepared to tolerate from his wife, from whom he expected the obedience that marriage vows demanded women to show their husbands. If she wanted to counsel her husband, she needed to employ far more subtlety and she needed to know when to speak and when it was best to keep her own counsel.

It had taken Anne time to learn that – and perhaps that was not entirely her fault, as her mother had died when she was too young to remember much about her, and as her father seemed to have been remiss in training her to be properly obedient during her childhood – but she had learned it at last and, as a result, could hope to wield considerable influence in the future, especially now that her instincts about the religious houses turned out to have been right, as long as she did so discreetly.

With most of the members of the Privy Council remaining behind at Whitehall, the meetings at Richmond lacked the usual formality of the sessions they had at court in the council chambers. Instead, they met in one of the smaller parlours at Richmond, warmed by a roaring fire with wine, fruit and cakes supplied for them, more akin to a social gathering than to a meeting of the Privy Council... and, even more unusually, Anne was usually in attendance.

Despite knowing of the fact that the King was paying more attention to Anne's advice than he had ever done before, even Norfolk was astonished when he and the others arrived at the parlour in response to the King's summons and found that Henry had Anne by his side, and that he plainly had no intention of asking, or even hinting that she should absent herself to allow them to continue their work without interruption. Today, as on previous days, Anne had a piece of needlework on her lap but she was making very little progress with whatever it was that she was sewing or embroidering. She listened intently to their discussions but did not say a word, not unless the King invited her to voice an opinion, which he seemed to be doing more frequently with each passing day.

Other men might grumble, believing that it was far from fitting for the King to seek the counsel of any woman, even if that woman was his wife, but although he was a conservative man in many respects, Norfolk was pleased to see that he was willing to listen to Anne, feeling that, in this situation at least, her influence over the King would be beneficial, and that since his niece was warmly disposed towards him, it would certainly do him no harm if she had her husband's ear.

They were in the midst of discussing the new group of rebels that had formed around a convent in Kent, who seemed to be just as determined as the other groups when Brandon was ushered into the room, his clothes still rumpled from riding. He was slightly breathless and, when he entered the room, he hastened to Henry's side, bowing hastily and handing him a letter from Cromwell.

"What is it, Your Grace?" Henry asked, accepting the letter and breaking the seal, scanning the lines. "The rebels of Kent have set up a siege outside the convent." He told the others in the room, frowning deeply.

Brandon swallowed, knowing that there was something that he needed to tell his friend but it was not something that he wanted to say, knowing that Cromwell would relay details in his next message, even if it was not mentioned in this one and that, if that happened, Henry would be angry for him for trying to keep it from him. "Your Majesty, the rebels at St. Barbara's... they have... I mean they are... they've made an additional demand, in addition to demanding that the convent should be exempted from suppression."

"What is it, Your Grace?" Henry said sharply, in no mood to tolerate any delays, from his friend or from anybody else. "If the news is bad, the delay won't improve it."

Brandon swallowed, knowing how Henry was likely to react to the news and what it might mean. "The rebels at St. Barbara's have demanded..." He took a breath before speaking, praying that when he did, Henry would be able to be calm and not to react angrily, doing something that he might regret. "They are demanding the restoration of the Lady Mary."


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

**_3rd September 1539_ **

"How dare they? How dare they?" Henry demanded, pacing back and forth in agitation, glaring at Brandon as though he was personally responsible for the demands made by the rebels at St. Barbara's, and not just the man whose misfortune it was to be charged with the unpleasant task of delivering a message he knew to be unwelcome.

How dare any of his subjects presume to make demands of him – their King! How dare they demand that he should restore his bastard daughter as his heir! How dare they cast doubt on his marriage to Anne, and on the status and rights of their children, his legitimate children by championing Mary as his heir – and after what she had tried to do to Anne too! Were they such fools that they wished to see somebody who, as a young girl, had been capable of calling for a pregnant woman to be poisoned sitting on the throne and ruling over them? What kind of Queen did they think that Mary would be, when she had already shown herself to be a disloyal, unloving daughter and a girl who was willing to resort to murder in order to further her own ambition?

"They do not seek to challenge right of the Prince of Wales to be Your Majesty's heir apparent," Brandon explained hastily, able to see how angry Henry was over this and hoping that he could deflect his anger before it could settle on Mary's head.

God knew that the poor girl's position was bad enough without it becoming any worse than it was already, and she did not deserve to suffer for something she had nothing to do with. The rebels at St. Barbara's may have named her and taken up the cause of her restoration, something that Mary was likely to be pleased about if she was ever allowed to hear of her new supporters, but Brandon knew, and he was sure that everybody else present knew, that Mary couldn't possibly have had the opportunity to contact them to ask them to speak on her behalf, even if she would have been inclined to take the chance of making the request, knowing how her father would react to it. She was kept too closely confined by her guardians at the More to allow her to contact anybody and, if she had been able to evade their vigilance long enough to send a message, she would surely have sent it to her cousin the Emperor, not to a group of Kentish rebels.

"They merely seek to draw Your Majesty's attention to the fact that your marriage to the Princess Dowager was a marriage made in good faith, believed to be a true, lawful marriage for many years and that its issue should therefore be considered legitimate, which would mean that the Lady Mary should be restored as a Princess of England and that she should be entitled to the place in the line of succession that her age and sex would dictate under normal circumstances."

"They want her to be placed above Elizabeth." Anne said, frowning at the thought.

If the Lady Mary was restored to the succession, whether ahead of Elizabeth or behind her, she was sure that it would lead to disaster. The Emperor would want to see his cousin as Queen of England, since he would be assured of having a valuable ally, one who would be certain to stand with him against France, and those who wished to see the return of the Church of Rome in England, for all its corruption, would also want Mary to be Queen, as restoring papacy was certain to be one of her first actions when the crown was placed upon her head. If she was given a place in the line of succession, if her right to inherit the throne was conceded in principle, then Anne did not doubt that it would not be long before an attempt was made on Harry's life, perhaps Elizabeth's too if she continued to outrank Mary in the succession, in order to clear Mary's path to the throne of potential rivals. As long as the Lady Mary was excluded from the line of succession and discounted as a potential heir, her supporters had little to gain from the deaths of her young half-siblings but it would be another matter if she were to be restored.

For Elizabeth and Harry's sakes, that could never be allowed.

She glanced up at Henry and was thankful to see that he was clearly far from pleased by this demand and she did not think that he would ever be willing to yield to it, both because he was surely as aware as she was that to yield would put the lives of their own children in jeopardy if he recognized his daughter by Katherine as one of his heirs, a risk he would never take with their safety, and because his pride would never allow him to retract what he had said about Mary being illegitimate, entitled to neither the title of Princess or to a place in the line of succession. As fond as he once was of his daughter, he would never consent to that.

Brandon, however, frowned at her words, although that frown was quickly suppressed, as he knew that Henry would be angry if he saw his friend looking at his wife like that. He inwardly cursed the fact that she was present when he delivered his message, wishing that Henry could have banished Anne to another room when he had his meetings with his reduced council and left her to focus on her needlework or some other suitable feminine occupation instead of allowing her to participate in the discussions, voicing her opinions as freely as any of his councillors did, if not more freely.

He knew well that even if there had been a slim chance that Henry would be swayed by the suggestion that Mary, daughter of a marriage made in good faith, should be legitimised, he would never agree to anything of the sort in front of Anne, as he would know well how he could expect her to react to the mere thought of such a thing. For her sake, he would be prepared to throw away this opportunity to restore his once cherished daughter to the status that should be hers by right, perhaps the only opportunity he would have to do so without losing face by hinting that his marriage to her mother may have been valid after all.

"Yes," he responded quietly, feeling a surge of dislike towards her. He should have known that Anne could be trusted to view the issue solely in terms of her own children's interests, not what was right for Mary or for anybody else. Had she no sense of justice, or even pity towards the young girl who had lost so much since the day Henry's eye first fell on her, that would allow her to see that, regardless of her ambitions for her own children, this was something that should be done? "They believe that as the Lady Mary is so much older than Princess Elizabeth, should she be legitimised, she should be entitled to take precedence over her – although this would surely be an academic point," he added hastily, wanting to downplay the importance of the issue in the hope that their might be a slim chance that Henry would agree if he could persuade him that it would make little difference in the long run if he made this concession. "When the Prince of Wales marries and fathers sons of his own, his sisters' succession rights will surely be of little consequence." Even as he said it, he knew that Henry would not be convinced of this. Prince Harry was only three years old, after all. His marriage, along with the birth of his first child, was still a long way off and until then, the question of which of his sisters would be next in line to the throne after him would be one of vital importance, one over which Henry would not be willing to allow there to be any shadow of a doubt.

Until Harry had a child of his own, he would make sure that Elizabeth was next in line to the throne, even if it meant cutting Mary out altogether.

Henry ignored Brandon's words, looking at Anne instead and giving her a reassuring smile, wanting to show her that this was neither something that he would consent to or something that he wanted. "It does not matter what it is that they want, my dearest, even if they are foolish enough to think that they may make demands of their King." He told her gently, taking her hand in his and kissing it lightly, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. "I will never consent to allow a bastard to outrank a legitimate princess in the line of succession."

"But Your Majesty..." Brandon began to protest, wanting to recommend that the suggestion should not be dismissed out of hand, that it might even be a way in which a resolution to this uprising could be found, if they could yield in one respect and show that something had been accomplished by all of this, that it had not been a complete waste of the rebels' time and that their efforts had won them a minor victory, but he trailed off. It was no use for him to try to continue to persuade his friend. Henry would never consent and pushing on this issue would only anger him – or, worse still, make him believe that Brandon sided with Mary ahead of him, something Henry was all but guaranteed to view as treasonous.

It would not be wise to draw such a suspicion on his head.

"They are traitors." Norfolk spoke up, pleased to see that the King wasn't even prepared to consider the idea of legitimising the Lady Mary or allowing her any place in the line of succession. He was not especially surprised that this should be the case but the King's stance meant that the positions of his great-nephew and great-niece were secure. "And after the foul, underhanded crime that the Lady Mary committed against the Queen, I am astonished and dismayed that any loyal Englishman would even _consider_ taking up her cause."

"Yes." Henry agreed, tightening his grip on Anne's hand for a moment, frowning at the memory of how close he had come to having her snatched away from him. Of the three people who were dearest to his heart, he might have lost two of them that day; the woman he loved and the son that he would not have had the opportunity to get to know if Mary had had her way.

God must have been watching over Anne and Harry that day, protecting them and making sure that nobody would be allowed to take them away from him.

Boleyn, listening to his brother-in-law's words in silence, had half-expected to see Anne flinch at the reference to the attempt made to poison her when she was carrying little Harry, or show some other sign of remembered terror, but he was surprised to see a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips and he was rather bewildered that she should take the news like this, wondering if she fully understood the seriousness of what was happening and what this could mean for her and for her two children. When Henry curtly demanded that Brandon should accompany him into the study so that he could make a full report, a signal that the meeting was temporarily adjourned, he took advantage of the opportunity to take Anne by the arm and draw her towards the cushioned window seat, waiting until she was seated before speaking to her in hushed tones.

"What in Heaven's name are you smiling about, Anne?" He demanded irritably, feeling as though she might know something that he did not and not liking that feeling in the slightest. He was accustomed to being the first to know what was happening in the court and in the country, and to being the one to keep his daughter informed and he was not happy with the new dynamic. "Do you understand what this means?"

"I do, Papa." Anne responded calmly. "Do _you_?"

"What are you talking about? The rebels are demanding that the Lady Mary should be restored..."

"Not all of them." Anne pointed out. "Just one group. The others never mentioned the Lady Mary when they began to make demands. They weren't interested in her cause." The other rebel groups had also made their admiration for her and their appreciation for the work she had done with her religious houses plain and, while she did not voice this thought, she could see from the way that her uncle's expression relaxed slightly that he too was thinking of that, that he understood what this would mean for them and that he knew that there was a good chance that this might work in their favour, instead of against them as her father seemed to imagine would be the case.

If the rebels at Louth Abbey, which continued to be the focus of the rebellion, continued to view her as an ally of sorts, then she could not imagine that they would want to champion Mary's interests, not when they would surely know that she would be far less likely to sympathize with them if they were pressing for the restoration of the young woman who had tried to poison her and who continued to slander her children as bastards by claiming to be the rightful heir to the throne. If they hoped that she would speak for them to Henry, urging him to see the justice of their complaints and softening his attitude towards them, then they would not want to risk losing her good will. This meant that they would not want to do anything that would threaten her position.

Just as her interests and Katherine's had been in direct opposition, so too were her interests and Mary's. To strengthen Mary's position was to weaken Anne's, along with that of her children, while weakening Mary would bolster their positions.

She was sure that the majority of the rebels knew this and that they knew who they were better off supporting.

Norfolk nodded approvingly. "Very clever, my dear." There were times when, but for the fact that if she had been a man, she would never have been able to marry the King and bear a Prince of Wales with Howard blood, he would have said that Nature should not have made Anne female. Had she been born a man, he was sure that she would have been Lord Chancellor by now, the King's closest, shrewdest and most trusted advisor, but he believed that she was of far more value as his Queen. Seeing that Boleyn was confused by his remark, he elaborated, his tone slightly patronizing. "Until now, the rebels have all had a common cause, one that they have been in total agreement over." He explained. "They have all sought to protect certain monasteries from closure and they certainly seem to be supportive of Anne because of her own efforts to ensure that the religious houses in her charge were put to good use. However, the rebels at St. Barbara's are taking a different stance from the others and, in doing so, they are promoting another cause, one that the others have not chosen to espouse."

"They've never had one group making different demands to the others, Papa." Anne pointed out. "They've all stood together… until now. Now they may be divided and, if that happens, then that may weaken their resolve and end this thing sooner." As she spoke, she winced slightly, thinking that even with this new development, it would never be over within four days, in time for Elizabeth's sixth birthday.

They were going to miss it.

"And what will happen if the other rebels choose to pledge their support to the Lady Mary and demand her restoration, ahead of your daughter?" Boleyn demanded of Anne, wondering what it was that had made her so confident. He was sure that if something like this had happened a few years ago, she would have been angry and terrified at the mere suggestion that the Lady Mary should be restored, as she surely knew that it would do little Elizabeth no good if her elder half-sister supplanted her as heir to the throne and as the highest Princess of England, but now she seemed to be taking it in her stride. The change could not all be due to Harry's birth and his continuing health. There was something else but he did not know what that was. "What if they all seek to see her restored to the succession and put pressure on the King to do so? What if His Majesty comes to believe that giving in to their demands will be the only way to resolve this dispute?" He could imagine that if the Emperor heard even one whisper that the English people were calling for his cousin to be restored, he would lose no time in taking advantage of the opportunity to lend his weight to her cause, once again making it a condition of their alliance and perhaps even threatening military intervention if the King did not comply.

If Mary was to be restored as a princess, acknowledged as one of the heirs to the throne, even if was made plain that she was to rank after all of Anne's children, male and female, in the line of succession, it would not be long before the Kings and princes of Europe sent their ambassadors to court with instructions to seek her hand in marriage on behalf of eligible royal suitors, monarchs or heirs. She was of marriageable age and was comely enough so there would be plenty of prospective husband, some of whom might have the resources to promote her claim to the throne by force when the King died, even ahead of little Harry.

He was sure that the Bishop of Rome was simply waiting for the opportunity to renew his insistence that Anne's children were bastards and that, as such, they had no right to succeed their father, even though their rights were enshrined in English law. The Bishop of Rome had no respect for the lawful authority of the English Parliament and he would certainly want to promote the cause of the Lady Mary because he would know that the wretched girl was certain to be determined to return England to submission to Rome as soon as the crown was placed on her head.

It was the Bishop of Rome, in his pretended authority as the descendant of St. Peter, who had yielded to pressure from the Emperor and declared the King's marriage to the late Princess Dowager to be valid and its issue to be legitimate, so even a fool must know that the Lady Mary would long to be able to impose his authority and, by extension, his verdict on the country, forcing them to once more acknowledge her as the legitimate princess she still claimed to be rather than own herself to be the bastard she was in truth, something she had stubbornly refused to do until now.

All it would take would be the acknowledgement that she was entitled to succeed, and she and her supporters would seize on the hope that she might one day be Queen, however faint that hope might be, as a starving man would seize a loaf of bread. They would seize on it and they would never let go, not until Mary was sitting on the throne.

Didn't Anne realize that this situation could quickly spiral out of control if more people flocked to champion Mary's cause?

As though she could read his thoughts, Anne shook her head decisively. When she spoke, her voice was soft but determined. "No, Papa, I don't think they will."

* * *

**_5th September 1539_ **

As soon as the Father Abbot read the message sent by the rebels at St. Barbara's to him, Seth Bradley knew that the additional demand they had made on the King was one that was going to cause problems, both in terms of the King's likely reaction to the demand and to how those who supported the uprising in defence of the religious houses would feel about the added clause. He did not need to ask that the message be aloud to the others who had barricaded themselves within the confines of the Abbey with him to know how they were likely to react – in fact, he was sorely tempted to ask the Abbot not to breathe a word about it and only kept from making the request by reminding himself that it was not his place to withhold information from the others, who were risking their lives and who deserved to know every development – and to know that they would be far from pleased.

He was not wrong.

"I joined in this to save the Abbey from being suppressed," Joseph Porter, the miller, declared, voicing the thoughts of more than a few of the men gathered in the Abbey's refectory to listen as the message was read aloud. "Not to fight for the Lady Mary!"

"I'll not demand that the King name her as his heir if he does not see fit to do so. That would be treason and nothing but." Another man spoke up, his tone determined, the irony of the fact that their refusal to allow the Abbey to be suppressed, as the King had ordered, could also be considered an act of treason seemingly escaping him. "The Prince of Wales is the heir to the throne, and then the Princess Elizabeth after him unless the Queen bears a Duke of York."

"Lady Mary is first cousin to the Spanish Emperor – we might as well put _him_ on the throne if we crown her, putting us all under the Spaniard's thumb and bring the Inquisition to England!"

"If you're to fight for a woman who could call for the Queen to be poisoned when she was carrying little Prince Harry, then I'll not stay here and fight with you!"

Michael Cook's announcement was seconded by a chorus of others, who insisted that, while they were happy to join in protecting the Abbey, were completely unwilling to lend their support to the cause of the King's elder daughter, especially after what she had done to Queen Anne, the woman they respected for her work with the religious houses given into her charge.

Seth had anticipated that they would respond like this.

The men of his village had all taken the Oath, vowing that they recognized Queen Anne as the King's lawful wife and the Princess Elizabeth, then the only child born of the marriage, as his lawful heiress, at least until she had a brother, and promising that, should the need arise, they would defend Princess Elizabeth's right to the throne by force of arms, fighting against any pretender who sought to usurp her throne and deprive her of her rights.

Perhaps, in their hearts, some of them believed that it had not been just for the King to set aside the Lady Katherine, once called Queen, and to name his daughter by her a bastard in order to marry another woman but not one of them would have denied that he was their King and, as such, it was not for them to presume to criticize him or his actions. There were quite a few men in the village who had felt that, as wiser, more learned heads than theirs had concluded that the King's marriage to his brother's widow was doubtful, it was not for them to question that, or who felt that even if Lady Katherine was a faithful wife and a good Queen who should not have been set aside, it would be worth it when the new Queen bore a son to rule over England when the King was gone.

The safety and future of the whole country was more important than the happiness of one woman, even two women.

There had also been many men who were more worried about their own concerns than whether the King was truly married to the Lady Katherine, or if Queen Anne was his true wife, or which of the King's daughters was to be called his lawful heiress and which should be called a bastard. These men had work that kept them occupied from dawn to dusk, and families they needed to feed and clothe. Few of those men were ever free of worries about money, needing to kept careful track of every farthing they earned and, even then, it was a struggle for them to make ends meet. If they could get through the year with their families alive and whole, without incurring any debt, then it was a good year, even if they did not manage to save any money for the future. Those were the concerns that were uppermost in their minds, not the affairs of the royal family, which they believed themselves to be better off not examining too closely.

The Abbey was different because it was a vital part of their community, and because they would have felt its loss keenly but, where the succession was concerned, many were content to leave it to the King to worry about that issue.

When they barricaded themselves within the Abbey, refusing to obey the orders of the King's soldiers when they ordered, in His Majesty's name, that they disperse immediately and leave them to their duty, they had taken a step that they could not easily untake. They were all well aware of the fact that their actions were certain to anger the King, aware that they might die, either in a fight to defend the Abbey, or afterwards, when they were arrested and hanged as traitors for presuming to dictate to the King.

They were unlikely to win.

They were not many in number and they did not have the weapons and armour that the King's soldiers would be plentifully supplied with.

They had stocked the Abbey with all the provisions they could carry there and store within the walls but, no matter how determined they were not to yield, the King's soldiers could simply outwait their siege – and, in the meantime, they would sack the surrounding villages, helping themselves to the food being stored away for the winter and confiscating any items they chose.

Shortly after this business first began, after they refused the King's offer of amnesty if they would put an end to this business straight away – an offer that more than a few of the men were beginning to regret rejecting – Seth knew that if there was to be any hope that they might escape with their lives, much less winning any of the concessions they sought, it would be with the King's mercy... and very probably the Queen interceding on their behalf and softening his anger towards them, at least somewhat.

Queen Anne would understand why they had needed to protect the Abbey; she had spoken up for religious houses herself and, when she could not keep them from being closed, she at least managed to ensure that the property would be put to some good use, for the benefit of those who lived in the surrounding areas. She would understand that they were still loyal to the Crown and that they had not stood against the King's wishes because they sought to undermine his power but because they feared that some of his councillors, Master Cromwell in particular, were urging him to take actions that would be harmful to all of England.

She would understand and, if she could, Seth believed that she would help them.

But they could not expect her to do this if they were making demands regarding the Lady Mary.

The Queen might be a good woman, one who would sympathize with their need to protect the Abbey but it would be a different matter altogether if they sought to press the King to make the Lady Mary, the illegitimate daughter who sought to murder her, his heiress. No woman – or man either – could possibly sympathize with those who advocated that the person who had attempted to take their life should be released from her captivity, restored to power and left free to try to harm them once again.

It was not something that could be asked of her or something that she would ever agree to.

They could not demand the Lady Mary's restoration and, by the sounds of things, the vast majority of the men at the Abbey did not want to.

He raised a hand, signalling for silence, hoping that they would allow him to speak and that they would listen to what he had to say. "My friends, I only wished to let you know what those who are standing against the King's soldiers in Kent have demanded, not what I wish for _us_ to demand." He announced, hoping to pacify the grumbling and knowing that if he could not succeed in convincing them, if some of the men standing before him opted to return to their homes rather than remaining and taking the risk that it would be thought that they were championing the Lady Mary, their siege would quickly collapse and the Abbey would be in the hands of Master Cromwell and his men before the week was out. "We are asking only that the Abbey be spared, we do not seek to interfere with the succession to the Crown in any way."

This pacified the grumbling and the protests but only somewhat. He could hear some mutterings about whether or not the King and the Queen would know that this was the case, or if Their Majesties would believe that they too wished to force them to restore the Lady Mary.

"We should send a message." Joseph Porter suggested in a loud voice, a suggestion that was met with eager agreement from those closest to him. "When His Majesty hears what they are demanding of him in Kent, I would wish for him to know that we are not making any such demand of him. We Lincolnshire men are loyal to him, and to little Prince Harry and we do not seek to see a murderess on the throne!"

Porter was right, Seth decided, nodding his agreement and promising that he would see to it. He hastened after the Abbot, bound for his study, where between them, they could compose the letter they would send to the King and the Queen, distancing themselves from the call for the restoration of the Lady Mary.

* * *

7th September 1539

Kat and Lady Bryan did their very best to make sure that today would be a very happy day for her but, even though they were to have a party in the nursery for her this afternoon, and then a feast in the Great Hall, with all of Elizabeth's favourite foods and sweetmeats and lots of games afterwards, it simply wasn't as much fun without her Mama and her Papa there to celebrate with her.

Last year, the celebrations for her birthday were held at court, where all of the lords and ladies toasted her at the feast in her honour, drinking to her health and wishing her a happy year, and afterwards, when the floor was cleared for dancing, many lords and gentlemen asked to be permitted to dance with her and told her that she was the prettiest princess they had ever seen as they twirled her around. Since it was her birthday and a very special day, she was allowed to stay up very late, much later than Lady Bryan or even Kat had ever permitted her to before and, when she was finally too sleepy to stay awake any longer, Papa carried her to bed himself, with Mama walking with them and they both put her into bed and kissed her goodnight before slipping out of her bedchamber.

This year, she spent her birthday at Hatfield, with the same people she lived with every day and the only special visitor was the messenger her parents sent to wish her a happy birthday and to apologize for the fact that they could not be there to share it with her.

Even the gifts they sent were scant consolation for their absence. Elizabeth had scarcely been able to drum up any interest in examining them, even though she knew that her parents would have sent her very special, very grand gifts.

"I'm sure that Their Majesties will invite you to court as soon as they can, and that they'll have a celebration for your birthday then – just think, you'll have _two_ celebrations for your birthday." Kat said persuasively, trying to console her. "Won't that be nice?"

Elizabeth pouted, not comforted by Kat's attempts at reassuring her. "I wanted to be with Mama and Papa _today_."

"I know, Princess," Kat said gently, putting her arms around Elizabeth and hugging her.

"Why can't they come?" Harry asked, frowning. Even though it wasn't his birthday, he had been looking forward to seeing his Mama and his Papa, telling them all about what he had been doing since he last saw them, and he was very disappointed when the messenger came to let them know that they would not be going to court to see them and that Mama and Papa would not be coming to Hatfield to see them.

"It's complicated, Your Highness," Kat said, not wanting to frighten or confuse her young charges by telling them the full story about what was happening but, at the same time, they were too bright to be fobbed off by pat excuses and would have to be told something of the truth. "There are a group of men – wicked men – who disobeyed the orders of the King's soldiers."

Annie Stafford gasped in astonishment and dismay at the thought of anybody daring to disobey her Uncle King.

"Were they naughty?" Harry asked gravely.

"Yes, Your Highness." Kat agreed. "And because of them, the King and Queen had to go to stay at another palace, away from Whitehall to be safe – it's just a precaution, of course." She added hastily, not wanting them to be frightened. "They're not in any real danger but, just in case, the King's Council thought that it would be best if they stayed away from Whitehall for a while, so they're living at Richmond Palace for the time being. It was where your grandfather used to spend most of his time when he was the King." If Kat had hoped that her mention of their grandfather would be enough to prompt the children to forget about the rebels and to clamour to hear all about Henry the Seventh instead, she was disappointed. They were not to be distracted.

"This is why there are new guards, isn't it?" Elizabeth stated flatly. She and Annie had both noticed that the number of guards stationed at Hatfield to keep them safe had increased over the past couple of weeks, even if Harry was too little to have noticed the change. "To keep us safe."

"That's right but there's no need for you to worry." Kat stressed. Not wanting them to dwell on the issue any more, she smiled brightly and changed the subject, stroking Elizabeth's fair hair. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go down to the kitchens and talk to the cooks – we'll need to have a very special dessert for tonight, on such a special day."

The three children waited until the governess had left the room before they moved to sit down on one of the cushioned window seats in the nursery. Harry, scorning their helping hands, scrambled up onto the seat by himself, settling himself comfortably between his sister and his cousin, looking from one to the other with wide, confused eyes.

"Why would they want to disobey Papa, Lilibet?" He asked, torn between confusion and indignation. "He's the King!" Even though he was still only three, he knew that it was very wicked for anybody to disobey the King. When he was a man and he was the King, he was going to make sure that everybody did as they were told. If they didn't, he would scold them even more loudly that Lady Bryan scolded the servants when they were naughty.

"I don't know." Elizabeth answered, her brow furrowed in confusion

"I know." Annie said, feeling very important since she knew the answer when neither of her cousins did. "I heard Lady Bryan talking. Uncle King wanted some mon'stries to be closed down because the people who lived there weren't behaving like they were supposed to but the people who lived near it got mad when they heard that the mon'stries were supposed to be closed down and they tried to stop Uncle King's soldiers when they came to the mon'stries. Now some people are very mad and they were shouting in London about it."

"Shouting at Papa?" Harry asked incredulously. "And Mama?" Nobody was allowed to shout at his Papa and especially not at his Mama! "Was Mama scared?" He asked, taking umbrage at the thought that anybody would be nasty enough to shout at his Mama and frighten her. "They wouldn't hurt her, would they?"

"Somebody did try to hurt her once." Elizabeth said gravely, her brow furrowing at the memory of what Papa had told her after Harry was born. She looked at her little brother. "It was when she had you in her belly, before you were born. Somebody tried to hurt her then and they nearly killed her, and you too. She was very, very sick." She added, remembering how long her Mama had had to stay in bed before Harry was born.

"Who tried to hurt Mama?" Harry demanded indignantly, clenching his chubby fists at the thought and wishing that he could go to his Mama now and make sure that she was okay and that he could keep her safe from the bad people who shouted at her and who might try to hurt her.

"The Lady Mary – you don't know her." Elizabeth added before Harry could ask. "She used to live here at Hatfield and she was one of my ladies then but then Papa found out that she got somebody to try to hurt Mama and he said that she couldn't be one of my ladies any more and he sent her away, far, far away where she couldn't do anything bad to Mama anymore."

"Did Uncle King think that the Lady Mary would hurt you too if he didn't send her away?" Annie asked Elizabeth, wide-eyed at the thought.

"I think so." Elizabeth nodded gravely. "Lady Mary was very wicked. When she was living here, she was always disobeying Lady Bryan, even though she was supposed to do whatever she told her to do, and she told lots of lies – she said that she was the Princess of Wales, even though everybody knows that Harry is the Prince of Wales and that Mary isn't any kind of princess at all, she's just a Lady. She once told me that she was supposed to be Queen after Papa died but that was just another lie. Papa sent her away to live someplace else when he found out what she did and she hasn't been allowed to come back since then."

"Good." Harry said, with a frown. He didn't want to have nasty people who could hurt his Mama living at Hatfield, or anywhere else where they could hurt her, and he didn't want to have somebody who told lies and pretended that she was Princess of Wales – claiming his title! – to be allowed to live with them. His lower lip trembled at the thought of somebody wicked hurting his Mama but he made a determined effort not to shed a tear. He was the Prince of Wales and he was going to be the King of England one day. It was very important for him to be a brave boy and not a cry-baby, even when they were speaking of something as frightening as somebody trying to hurt his Mama. "Will the other people try to hurt her – and Papa?" He asked, worried.

"I don't know." Elizabeth answered honestly. Seeing the troubled expression on Harry's face, she put her arm around his shoulders and hugged him. "It's alright; there'll be lots of soldiers living with them and they'll keep them safe. They won't let any of the bad people hurt them."

"Are you sure?" Harry pressed anxiously.

Elizabeth nodded, feigning confidence for his sake. "They'll be safe." She promised, hoping that this was true. "They'll be safe and this will soon be over."

* * *

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" Henry asked gently, seeing from the expression on Anne's face that she was troubled. He sat down next to her on the couch, pulling her into his arms and kissing the top of her head. He knew exactly how she was feeling because he felt much the same way; guilty about missing Elizabeth's birthday and wishing that they could be there with her today, to share the celebrations in honour of their firstborn. "I know," he said softly, kissing her again.

"She's going to be so upset about it!" Anne lamented. Even though they had sent Elizabeth's birthday presents to her, even though they had sent messages to Hatfield explaining that they couldn't be there but that they would see the children as soon as they possibly could, she felt guilty for having to miss Elizabeth's birthday, especially when they had promised that they were going to make it a very special day for her the last time they visited Hatfield, wanting to make sure that she didn't feel as though the celebrations held in Harry's honour in June were more elaborate than those held in her honour. "We were going to have fireworks." She remarked; the Italian they had engaged for the occasion had promised that he would be able to put on a fabulous display, rivalling the displays in honour of Anne's coronation and all three of the children had been looking forward to it.

"He'll be able to put on his show later, when we're back at Whitehall." Henry suggested. "We can bring the children to court and we can have a second birthday celebration for Elizabeth then – a late one. She'll be thrilled, especially if it means that she gets a second set of birthday presents. We'll make it up to her, and next year, we'll have the most remarkable celebration ever held in honour of a Princess' birthday."

"I'm sure that she'd like that." Anne agreed with a half-hearted smile. Part of her regretted that she hadn't taken Henry up on his original offer that she go to Hatfield to stay with the children in safety until this uprising blew over, as at least then Elizabeth would have had one parent there with her for her birthday but she also couldn't help but be worried about Henry would have fared if she had left him alone while this was going on. Although he did his best to hide it in front of his council, the strain was showing and she knew that he would have been much worse off if she had left him to deal with it alone. Her place was with him but that didn't mean that she did not regret that she couldn't be with her children too.

"I know she will." Henry assured her with a smile, before sobering. "I just wish that we could sort out everything else as easily. I can't believe that they dared to demand that Mary should be restored!" He said angrily, still infuriated by the mere thought that anybody could even _consider_ such a proposal. Even though it had been four days since Brandon brought him word of the demands that the rebels in Kent had made, he was still just as furious about it as he had been when he first heard the unwelcome news.

"I don't think that the other groups are interested. That's something to be thankful for." Anne pointed out. She had pointed out to him shortly after word of the St. Barbara's rebels' demand was first brought to them that it could work to their advantage, if it prompted a split between the various groups of rebels but, although Henry had tried to be gentle with her about it and refrained from sharply contradicting her, he made it plain that he was far from confident that her instincts were right in this case.

"But what if..." Before Henry could finish voicing his question, he was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Enter!" He called. A messenger entered, a folded letter clutched in one hand. He bowed deeply before handing Henry the letter. Henry rose, unfolding the letter and noting that the parchment was cheaper and cruder than he was accustomed to. The message was a short one and he scanned it quickly before setting the letter aside and moving to help Anne to her feet, swinging her around in his arms and kissing her. "My genius!" He declared fondly, setting her back on her feet.

"What is it? What's happened?" Anne asked, wondering what could have shifted Henry's mood so quickly.

"Read that, my love." Henry instructed, thrusting the message into her hand. "You were right!" He exclaimed, a broad smile on his face as he kissed her again, his delight evident.

Anne read through the message, seeing at once what it was that had pleased Henry so much. "It's from a Master Seth Bradley, he says that he speaks for the men at Louth Abbey and that he wants us to know that he and the other men there don't share the desire of the men at St. Barbara's to call for the restoration of the Lady Mary. They _don't_ want to see her restored to the succession; they are loyal to us, and to Harry and Elizabeth as your heirs – this is wonderful!"

"You may leave us." Henry instructed the messenger. "Tell the other lords what has happened."

"Yes, Your Majesty." The messenger bowed before leaving the room in search of the members of Henry's council at Richmond.

Anne was certain that they would be pleased with the news, knowing that this represented the turning of the tide. One group of rebels had distanced itself from another group and she did not doubt that other groups would soon follow the example of the Louth Abbey rebels, declaring that they did not seek to support Mary's cause.

It was a beginning and that was something to be thankful for.

Henry sat down on a chair in front of the fire, patting his knee. "Come here, sweetheart." He told Anne, waiting until she was sitting down on his lap before speaking again. "You were right; at least they're not all calling for Mary to be restored."

"But it's not over, is it?" Anne said. As relieved as she was to have her suspicions that the rebels weren't all going to ally themselves with Mary confirmed, they still had to deal with the issue of the uprising itself, and Mary herself could not be forgotten either. "We're going to have to do something."

"I know." Henry agreed, playing with her hair as he considered the situation, wondering what his best course of action would be.

The uprising could not be allowed to continue much longer, for fear that it would spread even further, but would it be better for them to seek to find a peaceful solution to this situation, risking that if they set a precedent of yielding to such demands, these rebellions would be repeated the next time somebody thought himself dissatisfied with the King's decision, or should they suppress these rebellions by force of arms, even if that did mean that people might call him a tyrant for doing so, inflaming the anger the crowd in London had displayed over the situation.

He wished that he knew which choice was the wisest one.

There was another issue that he could not forget either.

Mary.

Since he had given orders for her to be removed from the More and kept there, under close guard and with visitors forbidden without his express permission, permission that he had granted only occasionally and then for carefully supervised visits, he had to admit that he had not given much thought to the girl, even though it had been more than three years since he sent her away. He contented himself with the thought that Mary was safe in her place of banishment, unable to pose a threat to her stepmother, to himself or to their children and he did not give her much thought after that, apart from on the occasions where some misconduct on Mary's part had had to be reported by her guardians so that he could give orders about how it was dealt with.

He should have known that he would not be able to forget Mary forever.

Even in exile, she continued to claim to be a Princess, continued to insist that Elizabeth and Harry were bastards and continued to claim that she was the rightful heiress to the throne. Her behaviour a matter of months ago had proven that she was still as far from being reconciled to the truth about his marriage to his mother and about her own status as a bastard as ever. Given the chance, she would seize on the opportunity to win back the position and title she saw as hers by rights, regardless of the cost.

If Mary heard that the rebels had sought to advance her claim, it would make her even more determined than ever to hold fast to her false claims and, no matter how often he tried to reassure himself, Henry couldn't help but think that his daughter could not be discounted as a potential threat.

If something happened to him, especially now, when Harry was so young, a little boy who would not be able to rule by himself for many years, then he was certain that Mary would set herself up as a pretender, seeking to usurp her half-brother's throne... and if she did that, if she managed to make herself Queen, then she would know that she would not be able to hold the crown securely in her grasp as long as Harry and Elizabeth lived, since they would continue to have many supporters who would know that they were the true, lawful heirs to the throne and who would champion them as such, as they ought to do.

Mary had already proven herself capable of trying to murder an innocent woman, not to mention little Harry as he grew in Anne's womb, so he was sure that she would be capable of calling for the murders of her little siblings, arranging for somebody to dispose of them as the young Princes in the Tower had been disposed of, if she believed that this was the only way that she could manage to hold onto the throne that she had no possible right to sit on.

He could not allow that to happen. He could not allow his children, or Anne to be harmed in any way.

He could not continue to allow himself to ignore the issue of Mary, and the threat that she presented to his family, and to the whole country.

When this was over, Mary would be given the opportunity to take the Oath, to prove herself to be a good and loyal English subject, to show that she understood that she was illegitimate and that she was wrong to ever claim otherwise, regardless of how painful it had been for her to learn that she was a bastard rather than a princess. She would have the chance to show him that he had no reason to fear that she would ever seek to raise her own party to challenge Harry's rights, even if she was ever given the opportunity to do so.

If Mary refused...

If Mary refused, if she showed herself to be a traitor, then he knew that he would have no choice but to deal with her accordingly.


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

**_17th September 1539_ **

Although he had agreed that this was probably the best, perhaps the only way to put an end to this situation, once and for all, now that the time had come, Henry wasn't certain that he wanted to go through with the plan he had resolved on, the plan that Anne had proposed and coaxed him into accepting.

It was all very well for her.

She was a woman, even if she was also a Queen, and softness could be expected from her. Nobody would ever think any less of her if she changed her mind about something and went back on a decision she had made before. Her female sex ensured that nobody would be surprised by that – in fact, if they knew women, they would probably expect her to be changeable and indecisive.

It was different for him.

He was the King of England, divinely appointed by God, who had chosen him to be the King of England – even taking Arthur, the brother who stood between him and the throne, to Him in order that he might succeed his father as England's ruler – and his subjects should never presume to question his decisions. Those who dared to do so should consider themselves fortunate if they did not find themselves being marched to the Tower, there to be made a head shorter, and they certainly should not be rewarded by having him give in to their demands, as though they actually had the right to dictate what he should and should not do. Anne might be right that this was the best way for them to end the uprisings, without having to resort to military action that might lead his people to wrongfully brand him a tyrant.

He was all in favour of peace, Henry told himself. He was a humanist, after all, and even if his duties as King had sometimes forced him to go against those teachings, he still believed in them. Peace was a laudable goal and there were few things that could be worse for a country than civil war, something he could not help but fear that this affair might lead to.

The rebels who had called for Mary's restoration were thankfully a minority but what if their small numbers grew? What would happen if he sent soldiers to crush the rebellions once and for all and his people objected to that, deeming him to be a tyrant and seeking to displace him with Mary – and disloyal bastard that she was, she might well consent if they sought her out and indicated that it was their wish to place her on the throne, even if to become Queen she had to act as an unnatural daughter, setting herself in opposition against her own father – believing that if England became subject to petticoat rule, their Queen would be so soft that she would allow them to get away with demonstrations like these if they chose to stage them, yielding to whatever demands they might make rather than standing firm against them, all because she craved her people's love... as he once had... as he did.

But that wasn't always possible.

_Even on a warm day, it could be very cool when travelling by barge, so Henry and More were both wearing heavy cloaks. They rode in silence for a while before Henry broke it with an innocuous query about the other man's children._

_"They're well, thank you, Your Majesty," More's response was guarded at first but, as was always the case when he spoke of the family he so dearly loved, his affection for them, and his pride in them crept into his voice. "I encourage them all at their studies, even the girls."_

_More's desire to ensure that all of his children were well educated, his determination to ensure that his daughters were taught the same things as their brother and his belief that there was no reason in the world why a woman should not be just as capable of acquiring learning as a man were well known, and it was something that others viewed with suspicion, wondering what kind of a man could hold such unorthodox ideas. However, as unusual as some people might find his ideas, More's efforts in educating his family had borne fruit. His eldest daughter was particularly clever, with a grasp of Latin and Greek that would not have shamed a scholar twice her age. Henry thought that he would want Mary to be as educated as Margaret More one day._

_He smiled fondly at the other man. "Always the idealist."_

_More gave him a rueful smile in response, well aware that his ideas were ones that were not shared by the majority of fathers and disappointed that this should be the case. "At some point, I imagine, it will be considered ordinary enough and nothing strange for a girl to be educated." He predicted._

_But Henry had not asked for More's company so that they could discuss the virtues of educating females – though he made a note to speak to More about his advice for the kind of education Mary should be given, now that his little girl was fast outgrowing the elementary lessons given by her nursery governess and would soon require a more complete education. He had a weightier issue on his mind, one he could only discuss with somebody he trusted implicitly, and it often seemed that there were too few such men at court. "I've received a gift from the Duke of Urbino. It's a book called 'The Prince', by the Florentine, Niccolo Machiavelli."_

_"Yes, I know it." Henry wasn't surprised to hear it; More always seemed to be up to date on the latest literature in circulation. He was one of the best read men Henry knew, and could always offer stimulating discussion on the books they both read. "It's about political opportunism."_

_There was a faintly disapproving note in his voice and Henry laughed. "It's true. It's not like your book, 'Utopia'. It's less... utopian. Nevertheless, he asks an important question: whether it is better for a King to be feared or loved." More didn't answer and silence stretched between them for several long moments before Henry spoke again. "Buckingham's going to try and kill me."_

Buckingham's execution had met with not inconsiderable public disapproval, with more than a few people clinging to the belief that the Duke, head of one of the noblest families in England, with royal Plantagenet blood coursing through his veins, had been condemned for treason not because he was truly guilty of seeking to bring about the murder of his King but because he had made an enemy of Wolsey, the butcher's son who had climbed so high that he seemed to have forgotten that he was no better born than the common people he now looked down on. They believed that Buckingham's death was not because he had sought to take the throne and crown himself King but because he had insulted the proud cardinal by spilling water on his shoes – a gesture that many applauded him for.

Although most of the public disapproval for the affair was directed at Wolsey, Henry attracted a share of it too and it had come as a shock to him, as he was so accustomed to being a well-loved King, one whose people turned out in the droves to cheer him whenever he appeared in public and who was adored as the handsomest Prince in Christendom. To know that his people disapproved of him for having signed the death warrant of a man who had sought to murder him was a shock, and a very unpleasant one.

With hindsight, he believed that that was the first moment that he came to realize that even being beloved by the people would not be enough to protect him if they did not also fear him.

His father was never loved.

The English people respected Henry the Seventh, knowing that he was an able ruler, one who brought a country fractured by civil war back together and who helped to bring it to prosperity but they did not love him and he neither craved their love nor went out of his way to earn it. For him, his whole duty was the smooth, efficient running of his country and he cared little for whether or not his people cherished affection for him, as long as they continued to respect and obey him.

When Henry became King, he wanted to be as different from his father as it was possible for a man to be. Where Henry the Seventh lived an austere life, jealously guarding every shilling in his Privy purse and refusing to part with one unless he absolutely had to, Henry the Eighth was determined that he would live in the manner that a King should, dressing like a King, entertaining like a King and dispensing favours lavishly. Where the former King hid himself away from his people as much as his rank allowed him to, the new King would go out among them often, showing himself to his people and staging jousts and entertainments so that his lowborn subjects could mingle with their betters and see for themselves what a fine ruler they now had.

His father was never loved but Henry was determined to be.

Then Buckingham taught him that sometimes, it was necessary that his subjects should be shown his might, taught that they should also fear him.

More disapproved, he knew that, but he had not said so.

Of course, at the time, Henry had not known that the man he had once counted as his good, loyal friend would be one of those who would need to face the price for disobeying his King. He was always so sure that More would be loyal to him, no matter what happened, no matter whether he agreed with his choices or disagreed with them, that it was painful to realize that this was not the case, that More was just as capable of betraying him as others were.

He regretted More's death.

He wished that it hadn't happened.

However, looking back on that time, just over four years ago, he believed that there had been no alternative. All English subjects were required to take the Oath of Succession. More was an English subject and he refused to do so. He couldn't have made an exception for him. What kind of message would that have sent to the rest of his subjects, if they were told that they must take the Oath or pay for their disobedience and their denying their monarch's rightful title, along with those of his wife and legitimate child, with their lives, but another man who refused was spared, just because he had once been Chancellor... just because he had once been Henry's friend?

He had no choice then.

Anne believed that he had a choice now.

When she told him what she thought he should do, providing him with an alternative to ordering soldiers to each disputed religious house so that they could he had his doubts at first but she managed to persuade him. It sounded so reasonable when she explained what she thought he ought to do, her slim hands in his as she stressed that she was afraid that if this situation was allowed to continue any longer than absolutely necessary, the people's views would be warped by what was happening. They wouldn't be able to understand that, when he gave his permission for the religious houses to be investigated, his goal was to reform them, not to crush them. They would forget about the damage that the corrupt religious houses did, their greed as they lived lives of comfort at the expense of the people they were supposed to be praying for and they think of them all as good and honest, with the monks and nuns as near-saints who were being persecuted.

It wouldn't be a case of him going back on what he had said would be done, she told him, because he had never intended to close all of the religious houses. He wanted to reform them and only those who were so corrupted, housing monks and nuns who were so wicked and licentious that there could be no hope of salvaging any good from them should be dissolved, the monks and nuns dispersed and the property put to good use. This was his opportunity to show his people what his true goal had been and to make them understand that all he did was for their good.

When she said it, he believed her.

When she said it, he felt as though she was shining a light to illuminate the situation, showing him the way to restore order and to show his subjects that he was still their loving King.

The Duke of Norfolk was the first to praise him when Henry proposed the idea to his councillors – refraining from mentioning the source of the idea, at Anne's suggestion, as she thought that they might be sceptical if they knew that the idea was a woman's – and the others quickly followed suit. Not all of them were happy about the idea of giving way to the rebels to any degree, even by making only a mild concession, but they were shrewd, realistic men, men who understood that, as undesirable as it was for a King to have to be seen to bow to the will of his subjects rather than making his own decisions when it came to the government of his country, this could well be an occasion when it was necessary to capitulate, at least a little.

Their agreement that this was the right thing to do reassured him somewhat, enough for him to give orders that messengers should be dispatched to the religious houses where the sieges were taking place – though not St. Barbara's; as long as they were demanding that he should name Mary as one of his heirs, placing his bastard daughter on a level with his legitimate children, they would be allowed no say in this, or any other matter – so that each group could send a representative to Richmond for an audience, with the abbot in charge of Louth Abbey also accompanying the man nominated to speak for them but now that they had been sighted on the road, only a short distance away, he found himself feeling apprehensive.

This was his chance to restore order to his country but what would happen if the attempt was unsuccessful? What would happen if it succeeded but set a precedent that allowed his subjects to believe that, if they were ever dissatisfied with a decision that he, their anointed sovereign, made regarding how he should rule over the country and the people entrusted to his authority by God, all they needed to do was create enough of a fuss and they would be able to prevail upon him to back down, yielding to their every demand?

It was too late to back down now, however.

Henry reached out to take Anne's hand in his, squeezing it lightly, glad that he had her by his side. She had managed what he could not, both by holding the rebels' respect and by devising a strategy that, if successful, would enable him to bring an end to these uprisings.

They were both dressed as splendidly as a King and Queen should dress, in deep purple silk and cloth of gold, with Henry wearing his crown and Anne in a tiara. It was very important that, from the moment the rebels saw them, they knew that they were the King and Queen of England and that, even if they believed themselves to be justified, they were still wrong to rebel against their sovereign. Henry hoped that the sight of the royal couple in all their splendour would let their guests know just how fortunate they were that they were not to be hanged for their uprising.

Although the men who were escorted into the Hall at Richmond, motioned towards the raised dais where two chairs were set under a canopy of purple and gold for Henry and Anne, it was obvious at a glance that the display had had the intended effect.

They were instructed in the correct protocol before they were admitted to the Hall and fell to their knees as soon as they entered, awaiting permission to move forward before taking a dozen strides and then kneeling again before they were beckoned to come closer to the dais. At the foot of the dais, they knelt for a third time and Henry surveyed them for a few moments before he finally addressed them, ending the suspense.

"You may rise." He said in a cool tone, motioning for them to get to their feet. He did not ask their names – he had been told in advance who would be coming and he was in no mood to prevaricate – and he kept his expression stern and cold as he addressed them, wanting to make sure that there could be no possible doubt in their minds about who was in charge in this situation. He would have been well within his rights to have them conducted to the Tower rather than to Richmond as soon as they were in the hands of his soldiers, or even to have them hanged as soon as they were out of sight of their followers and he felt that they should all be deeply thankful that he had not exercised that right. "You have been attempting to prevent my officers and soldiers from carrying out my lawful orders." He observed coldly.

"With cause, Your Majesty." Seth Bradley spoke up, seeing that the other two men were too overawed to dare to breathe a word. He felt a surge of irritation towards his companions; if they knew that they would lack the courage to speak in the King's presence, then they should not have accepted the roles of spokesmen, should have allowed somebody else to take the job, somebody who would be brave enough to speak. He could sense the Father Abbot behind him, could sense the concern coming off him in waves and he kept himself from continuing, knowing that it could certainly do him and the Abbey no good if he was rude to the King.

The Queen was sitting by the King's side and, when he looked at her, he saw her give him a small, encouraging smile, one that reassured him that this was no trap, no attempt to bully them into complying by threatening them with dire punishment if they did not agree to immediately abandon their attempts to protect the monasteries. He didn't think that she would ever have agreed to lend her assistance or give her approval to anything of the sort.

Henry waited a little longer before speaking, thinking that they would be justly served if they had to endure the suspense of not knowing what was to happen to them, or to the religious houses they had set out to protect.

"I have made a decision." He said in a regal tone, as though this was a choice he was making freely, one that he would have made without any coercion from people rebelling against his orders. His next words were addressed to the abbot, who seemed to quail under his gaze. "The report that my commissioners returned on your abbey stated that it is free from corruption, that you govern your monks well and that your days are spent at work and prayer, living good, honest lives."

"Yes, Your Majesty." The abbot responded, his voice trembling slightly, although he met Henry's gaze squarely, encouraged by his words. It was true that the royal commissioners, despite all their efforts to uncover some evidence of licentiousness, dishonesty or sloth, were unable to uncover no signs of any of them. He had always made certain to ensure that the monks at the Abbey lived as they ought to, although he was aware that other abbots did not have such a care for either the bodies or the souls of the men living under their rule, that some of them were prepared to turn a blind eye to it when their monks kept mistresses, siring bastard children and even stealing from the wealth donated to the monasteries in exchange for prayers for the souls of the donors in order to support their illicit families.

He certainly had no objection to those establishments being closed, only to Louth Abbey being tarred with the same brush and subjected to the same penalty.

"So I have decided that Louth Abbey – along with others, who are also devoid of corruption and licentiousness – will be exempted from dissolution. However," he lifted a hand to forestall the abbot's thanks or the triumphant delight of the other men at the thought that they might have achieved their aim, not allowing them to say anything until he detailed the conditions of the reprieve. "You will accept that I am Supreme Head of the Church of England and, as such, you will owe obedience to me, not to the Bishop of Rome. My commissioners will continue to make frequent inspections and, should they discover that the Abbey has fallen, as other religious houses have, then it will be dissolved." They certainly couldn't claim that there was anything unjust about _that_. "You are also prohibited to recruit or to accept new monks in your ranks." He commanded, delivering the trump card.

Anne had characterized it as a gentle means of suppressing the religious houses; the monks and nuns who already dwelled within them would be permitted to continue to do so, provided that they continued to lead godly lives, and their King would protect them if anybody attempted to interfere with those lives, but if they were left unable to recruit new members for their order, a time would come when the existing monks and nuns grew old and the monastery or convent in question would die a natural death, after which it could be reborn in the reformed tradition, like a phoenix rising from the ashes. It was a subtler method than Cromwell's wholesale closures, closures that had roused such anger, and it was far more likely to be accepted by the people.

He wished that they'd thought of something like this before Cromwell pushed for them to go ahead and suppress all of the religious houses; the corrupt ones needed to be closed down as quickly as possible, of course, before the rot could spread but the good ones should have been allowed to continue their peaceful existence until it came to a natural conclusion.

Anne watched the men standing in front of them carefully, studying the expressions on their faces as Henry detailed the conditions under which the disputed monasteries would be permitted to remain open, at least for the present.

Convincing her husband to yield was not easy. Henry hated the idea of being the one to give in and, in many ways, she did not blame him for this, as he was King and, as such, owed obedience by his subjects but she was relieved when she managed to persuade him that, in this case, he should show mercy, gently reminding him that it reflected well on him and on his love for his people that he should be prepared to do this, for their sake and for the sake of peace in the country. Yielding in such a minor way did not make him less of a King, it merely proved that he was wise to recognize when he was given bad counsel and just enough to seek to rectify matters when he believed that it should be done.

Now the only question was whether the men before them would be willing to accept this concession, if it would be enough to persuade them to put an end to the uprisings. If it did, there would be peace in England once more, the people would stop crying out against Henry and all of this would be over. If they did not... she didn't know what alternative plan they could attempt.

The men seemed to have silently consented to allow the abbot to be the one to decide whether this deal was one that he could accept and, to Anne's great relief, he nodded.

"Your Majesty is most gracious and generous – and most merciful." The abbot said, casting a worried glance at the other men; as pleased as he was to learn that the Abbey was to be spared, he couldn't help but feel troubled over the fact that the King had said nothing about the fate that would befall the men who had taken part in the demonstrations against the closure.

Surely the King could not decide to put them to death for standing against his soldiers!

It was an act of treason to do so, he knew that, but he prayed that, as God had softened the King's heart enough to show him that the Abbey ought to be spared from closure, He would also have filled his heart with mercy towards the men who had risked their safety and their lives defending it.

Henry's eyes were stony as he looked from the abbot to the other men. There was nothing extraordinary about these men. They were not particularly young or handsome, nor did they look stronger or more intelligent than average. What had prompted them to take the step of rebelling against him? What had made them think that they would ever be allowed to get away with it?

"Attempting to prevent the King's officers from carrying out their duties is an act of treason." He informed them, giving them a few moments to contemplate the kind of penalty that a commoner could expect if he was convicted of treason before allowing his face to soften into a slight smile, taking Anne's hand in his and squeezing it lightly. "But my beloved Queen has pleaded with me to show mercy to you and, for her sake, I will forget your actions." He pronounced, framing the issue as a favour to Anne, a concession made to please his wife and not because it was what they deserved. "There will be no punishments, and when you return to your homes, you will be left in peace."

He deliberately refrained from making any comments about whether they would or wouldn't accept the offer he had made for them, instinctively thinking that it would be better not to make it seem as though he considered that they might refuse his offer, a generous one under any circumstances. He could tell from the expressions of their faces that they were relieved.

They wouldn't refuse, he knew that by looking at them.

They wanted the religious houses to be spared, and they would be... for the moment. They would not have to pay any price for their actions in standing against the King's soldiers. They would be able to go back to their lives, knowing that they had made a difference. It was more than they could have expected and an offer that they would not be able to refuse.

They were going to accept and, when they returned to their homes, they would return knowing of the King's mercy and they would love him for it, but that love would also be accompanied by the knowledge that they were very fortunate and that their defiance could easily have cost them their lives.

Machiavelli had raised the question of whether it was better for a King to be feared or loved but Henry now knew that it did not need to be a case of 'or'.

They would love him and they would fear him too.

* * *

**_28th September 1539_ **

It was very rare that anybody was permitted to visit the King's eldest daughter, and they were never allowed to visit her without the King's express permission, no matter who they were, no matter what their reason was to need to see her.

Even Mendoza, the Imperial ambassador, the representative of the Princess' own first cousin, had only been permitted to visit a few times, and each visit was required to be supervised by Sir William. He was only permitted to visit for short periods at a time and, despite the distance between London and the More, there could never be any question of being allowed to spend the night at the manor. They were only allowed to speak in English, instead of the Spanish that was Mendoza's native tongue and that the Princess' mother had taught her when she was a child, with both the King and the Lord Chancellor making it abundantly clear to him, as he was sure that Sir William and his wife made it plain to Mary, that if either of them spoke so much as a word of Spanish during one of their visits, they would never be allowed to have another visit, and the King would also demand that Mendoza be replaced as ambassador.

Nobody had needed to tell them that similar consequences would apply if he ever dared to address her by her title as Princess, her _true_ title, her _rightful_ title, or if he accorded her any of the honours due to her rank. Much as he hated the idea, much as it felt like a betrayal of both the Princess and Queen Katherine, her sainted mother, he was obliged to pretend that she was nothing more that a royal bastard; the Lady Mary, the King's natural daughter.

When he was first appointed to this position, Mendoza knew that his master had decided that he would not continue to press for Princess Mary's legitimation and her restoration as one of the King's heirs, even if she had to be placed behind both of Lady Anne's children. He hoped that, given time, he would change his mind and that when the Emperor was in a stronger position, when he was no longer in conflict with the King of France and did not need to be as worried about the King of England allying with the other monarch against him, when it was the King of England who was desperate for his friendship rather than the reverse, the issue could be reopened and the King of England placed under renewed pressure to restore his daughter to her rightful place.

Now he knew that this was no longer a possibility.

The rebels at St. Barbara's had made sure of that.

In a way, it was ironic that their attempt to get the King to restore his eldest daughter would ensure that this could never be the case.

Even if he _had_ been inclined to consider the idea of legitimising his daughter, of restoring her to some semblance of her former position and welcoming her back to court, he would not do so now that he had been all but commanded to do by his own subjects. The King of England was a proud man, a man who would never be prepared to allow himself to be pressed into doing something that he objected to. He had decided to declare his eldest daughter, the daughter who should still be his rightful heiress, to be a bastard, depriving her of both her rightful position and her rightful inheritance and he would not be gainsaid.

If there was a chance that he might have changed his mind, if he might have decided that, out of love for Mary, he would wish to restore her, that chance was gone now. Before, his natural affection for Mary – an affection that Mendoza, who had seen with his own eyes how the King doted on the Princess when she was a little girl, believed he must still feel in his heart, regardless of everything that had happened over the past years – might have made him yearn to welcome her back into his life but as soon as the rebels named her, as soon as they took up her cause and _demanded_ that she be restored, that chance melted away faster than ice on a midsummer day.

Now, if anything, Mary's position was far more dangerous.

Before, at least Mendoza was able to console himself with the thought that, even if Mary was forced to live in exile at the More, at least her exile meant that she was protected. As long as Lady Anne did not view her as a threat to herself or to her own children, she would have no possible need to attempt to harm her. As long as the King could send his daughter out of sight and mind, he could forget about her and he would not grow angrier at her continued refusals to yield to his demands.

Now, however, everything was different.

Now the King would see that, despite everything, his daughter still had some support among his people and, while that might have made another man give serious consideration to the idea of restoring her, so that the royal family might present a united front, with this King it would have the opposite effect. He would view the support for his daughter as a threat to the rights of his children by Lady Anne, to the Lady's own position and perhaps even to his throne... and the Tudors were rarely slow to deal with those they perceived as threats to their claim to the throne.

During the reign of the present King, and that of his father, men were executed whose chief, sometimes only, crime was to have royal blood flowing through their veins, enough for them to be deemed a threat to the shallow-rooted Tudor dynasty, a pretender in the making, and they were eliminated before they could have a chance to seek power for themselves, usurping it from the King.

Could the same fate befall a young woman whose only true crime – and even if he had believed her to be guilty of involvement, Mendoza would never consider an attempt to eliminate the Lady Anne to be a crime; after the damage the woman had caused, he would have applauded the man or woman who succeeded in killing her – was to have been born the King's daughter by his only Queen, to be the only true and legitimate heir to the throne, as the King had not put aside Lady Anne after the death of Queen Katherine and taken a second wife once he became a widower? Now that people had called out in support of Mary, forcibly reminding her father of her existence and her claim as his rightful heiress, would the King be prepared to order the execution of his own daughter, his firstborn child, in order to ensure that the rights of his two little bastards by Lady Anne would be unchallenged?

No, he would not execute her, would not even bring her to trial as a traitor.

Mendoza was a shrewd man and he believed that the same was true of King Henry. He would never dare to bring his daughter, a princess by rights, to trial and he certainly would not sign her death warrant. Even if he wanted to do so, even if he could forget about his love for his child and steel his heart to sign her death warrant, he would surely know that if he dared to do this, the people would rise against him in order to prevent Mary's execution. Even if she was believed to have been involved in poisoning Lady Anne, the belief that had turned so many of the people against her and robbed her of many of the supporters she had once had, nothing would bring the people to Mary's side faster than if she, the girl they had once bent the knee to as Princess of Wales, were to be put on trial like a common criminal and sentenced to death.

But execution was not the only way in which Mary might be eliminated.

Hundreds of years ago, one of the English Kings, another King Henry, the second of that name, had bemoaned the trouble caused to him by the sainted Thomas Becket, and the fact that his lords had allowed him to be so troubled by the priest and his words, overheard by a group of four knights, were taken as an indication that it was the King's wish that Beckett should be assassinated without delay and they hastened to carry out what they believed to be their sovereign's will.

Mendoza could imagine, all too easily, that the present King Henry might say something similar of Princess Mary, intentionally or unintentionally, something that would lead his lords to believe that he would be pleased to see her dead, and that one or more of those lords might, in the hope of pleasing their sovereign lord, plot to murder the Princess, and they might succeed in their vile task. The guards at the More were charged with ensuring that the Princess was not permitted to escape her captivity, to receive visitors or to send messages without permission, to protect the King and his family from what he believed she might do were she given the opportunity to do so. Protecting Mary was not their chief concern, and it was possible, even likely that a cunning assassin would be able to evade their vigilance, or perhaps to pay for their compliance.

Without her father's favour, Mary was not safe. Even her cousin could offer her only limited protection, especially as he was obliged to tread carefully for fear of driving England into a lasting French alliance, one that would unite both countries and their might against his domains.

However, the way to her father's favour would require a sacrifice on Mary's part, one that he knew she would find unbearable to make and one that he shrank from asking her, even though he knew that he must, that it might be the only way that he could help her preserve her life, even though the Emperor himself had ordered that he should tell Mary that it was his wish that she should make it.

When he explained the purpose of his visit to Sir William, the man was all too eager to conduct him into the small parlour, gloomy even with the fire lit, where he was usually conducted for his visits with the Princess, and it was plain from the expression on his face that he wished him all the success in the world. A servant was hastily dispatched to fetch Mary and, a few minutes later, the young woman appeared in the room, flanked by her maidservant, who sat down on a wooden stool near the door while her mistress continued walking towards the chairs set before the fireplace, and the ambassador standing next to them.

"Your Excellency." Mary gave the ambassador a warm smile as she extended her hand to him. as always, she felt a slight pang of disappointment when the ambassador bowed shallowly, the same acknowledgement that he might have given to a baron's daughter; she was realistic enough to know that if Mendoza treated her as a princess, as she knew he would dearly have loved to have the freedom to, he would never be allowed to set foot at the More again and she would lose the only friendly face she had aside from Joan's but it was still difficult to see her cousin's representative pretend to believe that she was a bastard.

"Lady Mary." Mendoza kissed her hand, helping her to sit down on one of the cushioned chairs in front of the fire. It was a few moments before he could force his tongue to speak the words he knew he must, words that he had hoped never to have to say to her. "My lady, I have come to visit you today because... your cousin, the Emperor has asked me to tell you that it is his opinion that you should take the Oath of Succession, as His Majesty the King, your royal father wishes you to... he asks you to be sensible in this matter and to obey your father, and himself." Mary's face fell as he spoke and he could see from her eyes that she viewed this as a betrayal on his part and on her cousin's. "His Highness believes that this is the best thing for you." He added gently.

Mary was silent for several minutes as she digested his words. So many people urged her to take the Oath; Sir William and Lady Margaret did so frequently, and whenever Cromwell or any of her father's councillors or agents came to see her, they stressed that she should take the Oath, occasionally making veiled threats that she would not be allowed to get away with her defiance much longer but Mendoza had never said so before, not in such open terms, and he had never said anything about it being the Emperor's wish that she should do so.

All these years, she had counted on her cousin for protection, for restoration of her rights. He had stood by her mother so steadfastly when her father tried to set her aside, even putting his immortal soul in jeopardy by sacking Rome and taking the Holy Father captive, ensuring that he would not yield to pressure to dissolve Mary's parents' marriage, as other royal marriages had been dissolved before, on some pretext or another, when it was considered beneficial to do so. But for her cousin, the Pope might have annulled the marriage when Cardinal Wolsey pressed for it, which would have branded Mary's mother as a woman who had lived in sin for many years with her brother-in-law and Mary herself a bastard.

He had protected them for so long and now he was telling her to take the Oath, which would undo all of the work done to preserve the sanctity of her parents' marriage and to confirm that she was the King's lawful daughter and heiress. How could he ask her to swear that she acknowledged that she was a bastard? How could she swear that she now believed the lies her father told about his marriage to mother being invalid, incestuous and accursed? How could she swear to count her father as Supreme Head of the Church of England, denouncing the Holy Father's authority, an authority given to him by God Himself?

She felt as though her cousin was betraying her by even _considering_ asking that she should consent to do such a thing... but she also knew that this was not something that he would have considered lightly. This issue was not one that would impact as directly on him as it did on her, of course, but Mary knew that the Emperor would still find it galling if he had to pretend that his aunt had lived in sin for so many years, as a mistress rather than as a wife. He would have his reasons for asking.

"It's because of the rebellion, isn't it?" She asked bleakly.

Sir William and Lady Margaret did their best to keep news of what was happening outside her prison from reaching her ears but they could not keep all knowledge from her. She had heard a little of the rebellion, with her scant knowledge gleaned from overheard conversations or from Joan, who had an impressive knack of finding out things that she was not supposed to know. She knew that there had been demonstrations against her father in London over his handling of the situation – and she was disgusted to hear that the people had cried out in support of Anne, rather than against her as they would have not many years ago – and that one group had demanded that she should be restored.

She took that as an encouraging sign, hoping that her father would use the demand as a pretext to restore her to her rightful place, thinking that if he feared to offend Anne, he could tell her that he had only done so for the sake of ensuring peace in the country by ending the rebellion and she was surprised when Joan reacted to the news with gravity and concern instead of optimism, refusing to believe that the people's support could work against her.

What a fool she had been!

Sir William stiffened at her question, looking ready to object, to warn Mendoza that he should not answer that question but before he could say anything, Mendoza nodded confirmation.

"Yes, my lady. It has changed the situation."

She nodded acknowledgement. She wanted to say something, anything, but she didn't know what she wanted to say. Did she want to reassure Mendoza that she understood that he was only asking this of her because he wanted what was best for her? Did she want to say that she knew that if the Emperor was abandoning her cause, he must have a good reason to do so? Did she want to scream and stamp her foot and denounce them all for betraying her by not only failing to uphold her rights but also by expecting her to renounce them herself?

She honestly didn't know.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, not knowing what to say to Mendoza, conscious of the fact that Sir William was watching her reaction closely, undoubtedly ensuring that he noted every detail of it so that he could report back to Cromwell about how she felt about the matter, just as her reported everything else she did, no matter how minor.

She couldn't stay there!

Rising abruptly, she hastened out of the room without saying another word, wanting to get away from them and back to the privacy of her own chambers before the tears pricking the back of her eyelids escaped. She didn't want them to see her cry.

Joan followed hurriedly behind her, shutting the door of the chamber once they were both inside. She didn't say anything at first, something that Mary was thankful for. She needed time to gather her thoughts and she didn't want to talk, not yet. She stood by the window for a long time, staring out at the bleak grounds of the More, grounds that were so bare and ill-tended compared to the gardens at Ludlow Castle, and at Whitehall. Even the weather seemed to be gloomy at the More, as though the sunshine itself was banished by her father.

"He's not going to be able to help me anymore." She said at last, still staring out the window. "My cousin, the Emperor." She elaborated, seeing the puzzled expression on Joan's face. "He helped us so much, my mother and I, and for so long. I don't know what we would have done without them... yes, I do." She corrected herself, shuddering slightly at the thought of how it would have felt if the Holy Father himself had declared her to be a bastard, and how devastated her mother would have been if her faith that her marriage would be recognized as a true, valid union that no man could set asunder, even if that man was a King or a cardinal, was shattered, especially since her belief in the pope as God's anointed representative would meant that she was unable to dispute his verdict, leaving her with no alternative but to accept the invalidity of her marriage and the inevitability of Anne filling her vacated place as Queen.

"Are you going to take the Oath?" Joan asked her, her voice as neutral as she could make it.

"I can't!" Mary declared.

"Why not?"

The reasonableness of Joan's tone astonished and angered Mary. "You don't understand!" She told her maid, trying to keep the quaver from her voice and to keep tears from flowing. "You don't understand how important it is that I don't give in. You don't know what my mother – the _true_ Queen – sacrificed. She could have given in, and she knew that if she did, my father would treat her very well and see to it that she had everything she could possibly want. He loved her once and he would have treated her like his own sister if she'd done what he wanted her to do and pretended that they were never really married so Father could marry that woman and Mama knew it but she wouldn't give up, not for herself but for me, for _my_ rights! She never gave up, even when they sent her to this place and kept her here and wouldn't pay any money for her household and expenses, even when they wouldn't let us be together. She did all that for my sake; she would never pretend that I wasn't my father's legitimate child. She wouldn't lie and I won't either. It doesn't matter what they say, they can't change the truth. I am the Princess of Wales. They could call me Lady Mary for a hundred years and they wouldn't be able to change that but I'm not going to help them pretend."

"Then you're a fool." In another household, Joan was likely to have earned a ringing slap around the ear for presuming to address her mistress like that but, although Mary did not strike her, she was dumbstruck by her bluntness, stunned into silence at first and then, once the initial shock wore off, she was indignant.

"How dare you speak to me like that!" Mary demanded angrily. "Do you know to whom you are speaking?"

"To a prisoner." Joan responded promptly, knowing that this was a situation where tact would do no good. Despite their somewhat rocky beginning, she liked Mary and wished her well and, though she was inexperienced in political and diplomatic matters, she was shrewd enough to know that if the Emperor was willing to urge Mary, through his ambassador, to take the Oath, it must mean that he had serious concerns about what might happen to her if she failed to do so, concerns that Joan shared. "A prisoner who has been kept in this place for more that three years, one who will never be allowed to leave unless she gives in and one whose claim to being heir to the throne is not upheld by most of the people in the country... people who believe that she's a murderess, or would be if she had the chance. Don't you see, my lady?" She pleaded, willing Mary to understand, praying that instead of taking offence at the words, she could understand that they were spoken for her own good. "The people don't see you as the heir, not any more. They've got little Prince Harry and they love him, they're thinking of him as the next King, and they love Princess Elizabeth too." She knew better than to add that they had also come to respect Anne; one mention of the Queen would be enough to ensure that Mary would not be receptive to a word she said.

"But..." Mary was ready to protest, to point out that regardless of what people thought, even if they did think that they wanted little Harry to be the heir instead of her – and how could they be so foolish as to prefer her father's bastard son, a little boy of three years old, to her, a grown woman and a princess by rights? – it didn't change the facts. They couldn't make Harry legitimate and her a bastard just by wishing it, because they wanted to believe it so that they might have a Prince of Wales to be King one day... could they? However, Joan cut her off before she could say anything.

"They don't want you, my lady, not now." She said quietly.

She truly felt sorry for Mary; she herself had grown up in a humble family, not a poor one but not one that would be able to afford basic comforts so, to her, the More was a grand residence and it was difficult to imagine that there could be other places that were so much finer as to make the More look ordinary, even poor, much less envision the kind of life that her mistress must have enjoyed during her early years. Mary did not speak of her childhood often but from what little she had revealed, Joan knew that she had enjoyed the adoration of both of her parents, together with a life of luxury that few could dream of. Then, one day, all that was gone. The Princess of Wales was transformed into the Lady Mary, a royal bastard banished to the household of the new infant princess so that she, who had once had a household three hundred strong tending to her needs, should become her baby half-sister's servant.

Nobody would have been able to endure such a change without feeling resentment, or without wanting to fight against it and refuse to accept the new situation, but resentment and obstinacy would do Mary no good under the present circumstances and they could even do her great harm.

Every day that she refused to take the Oath of Succession, she was committing treason and Joan was afraid that a time would come when Mary would be forced to pay the price for doing so.

"You're never going to be Queen." She told her, still in the same quiet but blunt manner. At this point, Joan imagined that Mary's chances of sitting on the throne were roughly on par with her own. She would never be able to seize the throne, either from her father or from the little Prince, not without invoking the help of her cousin, and if she called upon a foreign army to dethrone either her father or her brother, the people would condemn her for doing so and she would never be able to win their allegiance, much less their love. "All you can do is try to make things as easy on yourself as possible."

Mary shook her head furiously, lifting a hand as though she could ward off Joan's words, protect herself from hearing them and from knowing that her maid spoke the truth. If she yielded, her submission would be well-rewarded, Cromwell had all but told her as much the last time he visited the More. She knew that her father would be thrilled to know that she was prepared to give in, that she was prepared to say that he was right, words that he had wanted to hear from her from a long time but words that she didn't think she could bear to say, to him or to anybody else.

How could she repudiate her mother by claiming to believe that she had never truly been a wife or Queen? How could she repudiate her Mother Church by turning her back on the authority of the Holy Father? How could she renounce her own rights by pretending that they belonged to Elizabeth and to little Harry?

"I can't do it. I _can't_." She insisted, trying to fight off the sense of hopelessness she was feeling, hopelessness coupled with the fear of what might happen to her if she refused to yield and her father came to believe that this refusal posed a threat to him, or to his children by Anne. "My mother..."

"Is this what your mother would have wanted for you?" Joan asked, speaking more gently this time. "Would she want you to spend the rest of your life as a prisoner in this place? Would she want you to be kept away from your father, and from everybody else, until the day you die? Would she want to see you killed for refusing to take the Oath?"

When Mary finally answered, her voice was whisper-soft and her tongue could frame only one word: "No."

* * *

**_29th September 1539_ **

When she told him her purpose, Sir William was only too pleased to provide Mary with parchment, quills and ink to write her letter, promising that he would see to it that it was delivered to London by messenger, on the fastest horse in the stables, as soon as she was finished writing it. He did not speak any words of praise for what he surely deemed to be a very sensible action on her part, perhaps afraid that if he did, she might change her mind, but the smile on her face spoke of his feelings more eloquently than his tongue could.

However, even though Mary had explained in detail what she intended to write, that did not stop him from reminding her to bring the letter down to him, unsealed, so that he could forward it to the court. If anything in her letter caused offence, he would be held responsible for allowing it to be sent so he was not prepared to take the chance of any letter Mary wrote being sent on until he had personally perused it.

She had to write three drafts.

For the first draft, she was unsure what she ought to say, crossing out words and substituting others, even scratching one paragraph out altogether, thinking that its tone might anger her father.

For the second draft, the letter was satisfactorily phrased but the enormity of what she was writing hit her midway through it and the parchment was liberally besprinkled with the tears she had been unable to keep from shedding, tears that blotted her words and betrayed the distress she felt while writing them.

The third draft was well-phrased and written in a neat, clear hand, one that gave no hint of the turmoil the writer felt while penning the letter. Her tears had dried and not even a drop fell on the parchment in front of her.

All that was left was for her to sign.

"You're doing the right thing, my lady." Joan said softly from behind her.

Mary half-turned in her chair, giving her a watery, rueful smile. "Am I?" She didn't wait for an answer before turning back to her letter, lifting her quill in order to sign, knowing that she was taking a step that she would not be able to untake, making a concession that she would not be able to unmake.

For her freedom, perhaps even for her life, she was doing it.

Quill in hand, she took a deep breath before penning one final line at the end of the sheet in front of her.

_'Your Majesty's most humble and obedient daughter and handmaid, Mary.'_

Omitting her title of Princess of Wales pained her but she knew better than to lay claim to it, knowing that that using the title would undoubtedly undo any good the letter could do her in terms of winning her way back into her father's favour.

The temptation to tear the letter to pieces or to cast it on the fire was strong and it took a great effort on Mary's part to suppress that impulse, to fold the letter neatly, leaving in unsealed per Sir William's instructions, and then passing it to Joan. "Bring this to Sir William."

"Yes, my lady." Joan bobbed a curtsey before leaving the room to complete her errand.

Once her maid was gone, Mary put her head in her hands, tears flowing down her cheeks as he gently massaged her temples with her fingers, trying to soothe the headache that was beginning to tear through her skull with the intensity of a red-hot blade.

She had done the right thing.

She had done the only thing she could do.

Hadn't she?


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six

**_2nd October 1539_ **

Henry had lost count of the number of times that he had dispatched a messenger to his eldest daughter, both when she was residing at Hatfield as a member of Elizabeth's household and when she was sent into exile at the More, commanding her to take the Oath. Every single time, the messenger charged with relaying his commands to Mary was forced to return with the news that Mary had refused to take the Oath, in no uncertain terms, peevishly insisting that she could not deny her birthright or the pope's authority by swearing.

Now, without prompting from him, Mary had sent him this letter, humbly apologizing for her previous rebellion and obstinacy, finally acknowledging the invalidity of his marriage to her mother and admitting that she was a bastard, swearing that she recognized him as Supreme Head of the Church, that she would willingly acknowledge Anne as his lawful wife and as Queen of England and, perhaps most importantly of all, that she recognized Harry and Elizabeth's rights, as his legitimate children, to be heirs to the throne while she, by virtue of her illegitimacy, had no right to succeed him. She concluded her letter with a promise that she would henceforth be his loving, obedient daughter and subject.

Her letter also included a general apology for all of the wrongs she had committed against him and his Queen in the past – perhaps the closest Mary could come to expressing remorse for her involvement in the attempt on Anne's life three and a half years ago, particularly when she was never actually charged with that crime?

If Mary had sent this letter to him when Elizabeth was a baby and when there were still many foolish, wrong-minded people who insisted on denying the validity of his marriage to Anne and the legitimacy of the beautiful daughter she had borne him, Henry would have been overjoyed to see that his daughter had come to understand the truth of the situation, to know that the lesson he had intended to teach her when he sent her to Hatfield so that she would know her new place had been well-learned.

It would have been such a relief then for him to know that Mary would be able to serve as a good example to others if she was seen to publicly admit the truth. He would have been delighted to welcome her back to court, a sentiment he was sure Anne would have shared, and they would have seen to it that Mary was provided with a suitable apartment at Whitehall, together with a household of servants to tend to her needs, ensuring that she was treated the way a King's daughter ought to be treated, even if she was no longer a princess.

He would have found a kind, suitable husband for Mary from amongst the young nobles at court, a man he could be sure would be a good husband to his daughter, and he would have dowered her royally, providing ample compensation for her bastard status.

Perhaps Mary's example would even have helped to persuade Katherine to give up her absurd, obstinate insistence that she was truly his wife and her false claims to Anne's rightful title, if she could see that their daughter had come to her senses and realized the truth of the matter. He was sure that at least part of Katherine's stubbornness stemmed from her unwillingness to renounce what she saw as Mary's birthright so it might have done her good if she saw that Mary herself understood that she was not a legitimate heir. Katherine was always a proud, stubborn woman and perhaps even Mary would not have been able to change her mind, even if she had tried, but if anybody could have made the woman see sense, it would have been their dear daughter.

If Mary had sent the letter to him after Katherine's death, when Anne was carrying Harry, he would have accepted it gladly. He would have been able to understand why his daughter might have been reluctant to send it during her mother's lifetime, not wanting to hurt Katherine by publicly renouncing her cause. Surely Mary could not be condemned too harshly for her filial love for her mother, even if it had caused her to defy her father, particularly when Katherine was undoubtedly urging Mary to disobedience and rebellion during her lifetime. He would have been pleased that the girl had come to an understanding of the truth at last and would not reproach her over the length of time she had taken before she admitted the truth. He would have invited her back to court as soon as she signed the Oath, made sure that she was comfortably housed and attended and that those at court knew that she was to be treated with respect, as his daughter, and he knew that Anne would have been a kind stepmother to her.

Then Mary had plotted against Anne, giving her approval to Brereton and Chapuys when they conspired to poison Anne, to murder her and the child she carried, instead of refusing to even consider countenancing such an evil act and warning Henry what the two men plotted, so that he could put a stop to it before they could harm so much as a hair on Anne's head.

After that, he felt that even if she took the Oath, even if he could be certain of her loyalty, he would never be able to feel as warmly towards her as he once had.

How could he ever forget how it felt to learn that his daughter was capable of endorsing murder?

Even if he was able to accept Mary's oath, how could he ever trust her again?

Once he was finished reading the letter, he passed it to Anne, waiting in silence as she read it. He saw her eyebrows lift in astonishment when she was about halfway through and guessed that she had just read Mary's assurance that she was willing to acknowledge her as Queen, a promise they had been kept waiting for for a long time… perhaps too long.

When Anne first approached Mary, seeking out during one of her visits to Hatfield to see Elizabeth, then a tiny baby, offering to welcome her back to court in exchange for Mary consenting to acknowledge her as Queen, she had not told him what she had planned before setting off on her journey. It was only after she returned to the palace, and he saw the unhappy expression on her face and asked about what was upsetting her, worried that something might have happened to Elizabeth, that he learned of her attempt to see Mary, to reason with the girl. Anne had not wanted to tell him about it beforehand, afraid that she would get his hopes up if she told him of her plan and that he would be disappointed if Mary refused, as she had.

It _was_ a disappointment, he couldn't deny that.

For Anne's sake, he did his best not to allow any hint of that to show, not wanting her to feel as though she had failed him when it was no fault of hers that Mary had refused. Anne's offer, as she related it to him, was a fair one, even generous, but she had underestimated Mary's pride and the obstinate Spanish blood she had inherited from her mother. Mary would not easily consent to yield. Even if the girl knew the truth about her bastard status, even if she knew in her heart that her mother was and had never been Henry's wife or England's Queen, titles that both belonged to Anne by rights, she would resist that knowledge rather than own that she had no right to the title of Princess, the title she pretended to, or that her mother, whom she idolized, was wrong.

He could remember the way he hugged Anne close upon her return, kissing her lips tenderly as he thanked her for trying to extend an olive branch to his daughter, loving her for her willingness to welcome Mary back for his sake, and the way he vowed to her that, one way or another, he would quash his daughter's rebellion and make her understand her place in the world, once and for all.

That was a promise that he had not been able to keep. Mary persisted in her obstinacy, refusing to take the Oath, perhaps knowing that there was little he could do about it.

She was already serving in Elizabeth's household as one of her maids in waiting and he had given Lady Bryan strict instructions that, despite being a King's daughter, Mary should not be treated more favourably than the other ladies in attendance on Elizabeth. He would have thought that the knowledge that she would not be permitted to see or even write to Katherine until both of them took the Oath would be enough to persuade Mary to yield and to beseech her mother to do so but, although both made frequent requests to be allowed to be together, neither was prepared to do what she must in order for those requests to be granted.

Refusal to take the Oath when commanded to do so was a treasonable offence, one that merited a sentence of death but Mary must have known that she need have no fear that this penalty would be exacted against her. He would never have been able to bring himself to order Mary to be executed, especially since that would surely have provoked the peoples' anger against him. Mary knew that she could refuse to take the Oath and yet be immune from the prescribed consequence for such a refusal and she took full advantage of that fact.

Until now.

Anne finished reading the letter and folded it neatly before passing it back to him. "Do you think she means it?" She asked quietly, well-aware of the fact that it was far more likely that Mary's capitulation was the result of a desire to escape her current confines at the More – or perhaps of a renewed fear that she might be executed if she continued to defy her father – rather than evidence of the fact that she now accepted the invalidity of her parents' marriage.

But did Mary's motives matter as much as her actions? If she was willing to acknowledge Anne as Queen, and Harry and Elizabeth as legitimate heirs, swearing a solemn oath to that effect, then that was a commitment that she would not easily be able to unmake. Perhaps they did not need Mary's capitulation as much as they once had, now that Harry was widely accepted as his father's legitimate heir while Mary had comparatively little support, but it certainly wouldn't do her little boy any harm if his half-sister was seen to publicly admit that she was wrong to ever lay claim to his title or his right to succeed Henry.

Unless Mary had an ulterior motive for wanting to return to court...

"I don't want her going to Hatfield." She said, her tone leaving no room for argument. She had had her concerns when Mary was first appointed as one of the ladies who would wait on Elizabeth, afraid that Katherine's daughter might harm her tiny rival and she hadn't spoken up then, something she deeply regretted once she knew that her concerns about the lengths that Mary might be prepared to go to were not unjustified. The knowledge that they had harboured a viper in Elizabeth's nursery for over two years haunted her. Anything might have happened! She wasn't going to keep silent now. If Mary was to be allowed to leave the More, as they agreed should be the case if she proved willing to take the Oath, then under no circumstances would she be allowed to resume her position in the children's household.

Henry nodded in response to this. He doubted that Mary would be wicked or foolish enough to try to harm Harry or Elizabeth again, not when she had nothing to gain if anything happened to one or both of her little half-siblings and everything to lose, but that was not a chance that he was prepared to take.

Nonetheless, something would have to be done, to signal to the court and to Mary herself that she was a bastard now and not a princess, as she had persisted in claiming until so recently. Things were different now and he couldn't go along with his original plan to supply Mary with a small household of her own at court. After what she had done, she would need to prove her loyalty before she could be allowed such privileges.

"I think she means it." He said, in answer to Anne's earlier question. Mary was proud, like her mother. He couldn't imagine that she would pledge to take the Oath lightly. He regarded Anne for a few moments, a plan taking form in his mind, one that would enable Mary to prove her loyalty and that would make her illegitimacy and her lowered standing plain to everybody, including Mary herself, but without giving any cause for complaint that she was being mistreated. However, it was not one that he was prepared to carry out without Anne's consent. "Sweetheart..." He began, explaining his intentions and the logic behind them. "It's up to you." He finished gently, once he had made his suggestion, not wanting Anne to feel pressured into agreeing if she was uncomfortable doing so.

After a long pause, she finally nodded her head.

* * *

"Are you certain that this is wise, my dear?" Norfolk asked, astonished, as soon as Anne told him of Henry's suggestion. As pleased as he was to know that the wretched girl had finally yielded and agreed to take the Oath, to know that her submission would greatly reduce any possibility that she might ever be able to claim the throne ahead of Anne's children, he was surprised to hear what Henry had planned for his eldest daughter, and even more surprised that Anne seemed to be quite willing to go along with it. "Aren't you worried? I don't want to frighten you, Anne, but can you be certain that the Lady Mary will not make a second attempt to harm you?"

"Certain? No." Anne responded, knowing that, in her position, she could never be certain about anything and never know beyond the shadow of a doubt which of her ladies could be trusted implicitly. However, under the circumstances, she thought that Mary might be one of the least likely to try to harm her. "But she'd be a fool to try anything. If anything did happen, she'd be the first suspect." Very possibly the only suspect, she added inwardly. Why would anybody investigate the possibility that somebody else might be responsible when the girl who had already been involved in one attempt on her life was present in her household? "I'll be taking every precaution, Uncle, don't worry." She added with a rueful smile. "It's not as if she'll be preparing my meals."

Norfolk gave her a grim smile in response to her half-hearted jest but he still looked concerned. "Do you think this will be enough?"

"I think so." Anne nodded. "And I'd rather have her in my household, where I can keep an eye on her, than at Hatfield with the children." Henry was right that, under the circumstances, it would be much better if they could have Mary serving as a lady-in-waiting in order to make her position plain, at least for a while so that she could prove her loyalty. After that, they would be able to consider whether or not to allow her a more honoured position at court. When it came to the question of where Mary might serve, there were really only two options and one of those options was definitely out of the question.

"If you are sure that you are comfortable with the arrangement." Norfolk said gravely. "But please be very careful and make sure that a close watch is kept on that girl, just in case."

"I will." Anne promised, touched by his concern.

"In fact," Norfolk added, sounding as though the thought had just struck him, "I think that if the Lady Mary is to join your household, you would be wise to take on another lady-in-waiting, one whose loyalty you may be certain of. There is one young lady I am thinking of, of our family..."

"Uncle," Anne cut him off with a slight smile, amused by his attempt at subtlety. "If there is a Howard girl you have in mind for a place in my household, just tell me who she is. I can always find a place for one of the family."

Norfolk smiled, more warmly this time, pleased by her response and eager to see the young relative in question settled at court, in her cousin's household. As Queen, Anne was in a position to be able to help her attendants find advantageous husbands and, when necessary, to provide them with suitable dowries – both of which were particularly valuable in this case, as the niece he was thinking of sprang from one of the most impoverished branches of the Howard family tree. She was a pretty girl, nobody who saw her would ever be able to truthfully deny that, but one whose prospects could never be called glorious, quite the reverse.

As the eldest son, Norfolk inherited the family titles and the vast bulk of his father's property, leaving little for the other sons of the house. Despite efforts to find a suitable position for him, one that would enable him to support his rapidly expanding family, his younger brother had lived and died in debt, leaving behind ten children, all of whom relied on the help and financial support of relatives for their education and upbringing.

Under other circumstances, he might have thought his young niece an ideal candidate to become a mistress of the King's, thinking that with her youth and comely appearance, she was likely to be able to win his affection and hold it for a long time but he, like everybody else at court, knew that the King had not strayed from the marriage bed even once since Prince Harry's birth so the young lady in question would have to make her fortune in another way.

"I hoped that you would feel this way." He said. "I was thinking of your cousin, Catherine – one of the daughters of my brother Edmund; your uncle, you were able to obtain a position for him in Calais before your marriage to the King." He clarified, thinking that it could sometimes be difficult to keep track of the number of Howards. There were times when it seemed as though there were dozens of Howard girls and, as the family patriarch, he was the one charged with the responsibility for ensuring that each of them was satisfactorily settled, a task that could be onerous at times, even with their cousin sitting on the throne and in a position to lend her assistance. "She is fifteen now," he added, seeing Anne's slight frown at the name; during her time as Queen, Katherine was namesake to many girls, particularly girls born into noble families, as Anne was in her turn but, with the generation of Annes still too young to come to court, Whitehall seemed to be full of Katherines, something he knew Anne found mildly irritating, an unwelcome reminder of her predecessor. "She lost her mother when she was young, and her father died recently. She has been a ward of my stepmother for the past eight years."

Privately, he doubted whether the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk was providing young Catherine, or any of the other wards in her household, with the level of supervision that young girls of noble families required but he wasn't about to say so to Anne, not when he was asking her to take charge of one of them. If it did turn out that Catherine had picked up undesirable habits during her time at Lambeth, he was sure that he would be able to impress upon her the importance of behaving like a lady at court, never doing anything that might bring shame to the family.

If she proved to be unable to conduct herself as an unmarried Howard maiden was expected to – and he certainly was not going to examine the question of whether or not she was still a maiden too closely, for fear that the answer would not be to his liking – there would be plenty of others who would be only too pleased to have the opportunity to take her place in the Queen's household, something he planned to make sure that she was well aware of before he brought her to court and presented her to Anne.

If the girl possessed even an ounce of sense, she would know better than to waste this chance. If she did, the chances of her being offered another opportunity of this kind were very slim.

Anne nodded comprehension, feeling pity for the cousin she had not yet met. She too had lost her mother at a young age and she was aware of the fact that she was fortunate that her father was able to find a place for her in the royal courts of Austria and France, where she was able to avail of a far more comprehensive education than most girls of her station, instead of farming her out to wealthier relatives to be reared. The life of a poor relation was not one she would ever want to lead.

As she had told her uncle, she could always find a place for one of the family and, in a situation like this one, she was more than happy to be able to do so.

"Bring her to court, Uncle," she instructed. "I'll have a place waiting for her."

"Good. You won't regret this." Norfolk assured her, grimly telling himself that if Catherine was foolish enough to waste such a valuable opportunity by behaving badly and marring her chances, _she_ would be the one given cause to regret her actions.

* * *

**_6th October 1539_ **

The last time Mary was at court, she was a little girl.

After she was sent away to live at Ludlow Castle, the distance between London and the Welsh Marches would have prevented her from making the journey on anywhere near as regular a basis as she would have hoped. As well as that, it was after she was sent away from Whitehall that her father became obsessed with Lady Anne – Queen Anne; she was going to have to accustom herself to thinking of her father's concubine by that title, or she was certain to make a slip within earshot of an unfriendly listener – and once he began proceedings to annul his marriage to her mother, the last thing he would have wanted would be to have the daughter he planned to bastardise around him.

If he had had to look at Mary's face every day as he concocted his arguments, pulling every string he could get his hands on and utilizing every excuse that he could come up with in order to free himself so that he would be able to offer marriage to a young woman who did not want to be his mistress, surely even his adaptable conscience would not have allowed him to continue in a course of action that, if successful, would lead to his own child being branded illegitimate and disinherited.

Her mother asked him to invite her to court often, she knew that, but those requests were invariably refused and Mary had only been welcomed back to court a couple of times since her removal to Ludlow, and even then her visits were brief, lasting only a few days; she spent more time travelling to London than she was actually allowed to spend there with her mother.

Now, after so many years exiled from the palace in which she had spent her happy childhood and cut off from the father who once adored her, Mary was back but she had no sooner set foot in the palace than she sensed the difference that those years had wrought.

One of the first things she noticed was that her mother's initials and badge were gone.

The countless intertwined HKs that told of the deep love her parents once shared had been replaced with love-knots connecting the letters H and A, just as her mother's pomegranate had been chiselled away to make room for Anne's falcon; a symbol adopted by the Boleyn family but one that was crowned and placed atop a bed of roses to signify Anne's stolen status as Queen and her connection with the House of Tudor.

The first time Mary saw one of those, she stopped dead in her tracks, unable to tear her gaze from the sight of the falcon or to forget what the presence of this symbol, and the absence of her mother's crest, signified.

Anne's victory.

The Holy Father himself might have ruled that Mary's parents' marriage was valid, a ruling that made her father's marriage to Anne invalid and rendered the children of their union illegitimate, but that did not keep Anne from being generally accepted as Queen, with her little son popularly looked on as the Prince of Wales and heir apparent.

If the way her initials, her crest and her portraits were stripped from the palace was any indication, Mary's mother might never have made Whitehall her home for so many years. All traces of her were banished; it wasn't enough that she was gone, they wanted her to be forgotten too.

Would that be Mary's fate?

She was not insensible to the fact that, by swearing the Oath, she would be undermining what support remained for her as her father's legitimate heir. If she was willing to take the Oath, to defer to the woman who had usurped her mother's place as Queen and to the woman's children as heirs, why should she expect others to do any different? If she was willing to swear a solemn oath, vowing that she was an illegitimate child born of an incestuous union, why should she expect others to champion her as a legitimate princess?

One day, Harry would become King of England. When he married, he would father children of his own and those children would be the ones to continue the Tudor line of rulers, not Mary.

When she was dead, would people see her as a woman deprived of her rights, a woman who should have been Queen but wasn't, or would they believe that she was nothing more than a royal bastard, one who was rightly disinherited when the truth about her status was discovered?

Would they remember her at all or would 'Lady Mary' fade from history, as though she had never been born?

The thought was enough to make her shudder.

"My lady?" Sir William, noticing her shudder, looked concerned. "Is all well with you?"

When he asked that, she wanted to scream at him. Of _course_ all was not well with her! She was back at court, something she once longed for above all else, and it seemed as though everywhere she turned, she could see evidence of Anne's ascendance, proof of the way the tide had turned against her and in favour of that harlot. It wasn't just the walls, either; she could see the change reflected in the faces of the courtiers and the way they behaved as she passed them.

The last time she was at court, she was still the Princess of Wales, and even though she was still only a child then, no courtier had failed to show her the degree of deference due to her exalted position. Men bowed deeply while women curtsied, with courtiers of both sexes hastily stepping back to make way for her whenever she appeared. Many of them smiled fondly at her then, murmuring amongst themselves about what a pretty girl she was and predicting that she would be a lovely woman one day.

Now, they stared at her curiously as she passed, barely inclining their heads or bending their knees, if that, and it was plain from the looks on their faces that they were trying to puzzle out what her return would mean. Was she to be welcomed back into the bosom of the royal family, cherished by her father once more and treated as a princess in everything but name, or was her place to be a humble one? Would it be a good idea to try to court her friendship and good will, in the hopes that she might be able to advance their cause and help them secure her father's favour and the many rewards that came with it, or would it be wiser for them to keep their distance for the present, treating her courteously but coolly until it became clear where she stood in her father's esteem.

If they hoped for her friendship after snubbing her like that, they were certain to be disappointed.

Mary wanted no fair-weather friends. If somebody refused to speak for her or for her mother when their positions were weak and they stood in need of loyal friends, then why should she speak for them once she was in a position to do so? Did they really think that she would forget the way they snubbed her when her place was uncertain, offering her only the very barest courtesies, if they hastened to treat her with all respect and deference once her position was strong once more?

If they did, they were fools!

Once they entered the Great Hall, a page in her father's livery approached, making a shallow bow in Mary's direction. "Lady Mary." He greeted her politely. "His Majesty will receive you in the presence chamber. Please follow me."

Feeling thankful that the page had not said that Anne would be there too, grateful that the inevitable moment when she would have to acknowledge the woman as Queen had been put off, even if only for a short time, Mary nodded comprehension, following the young man down the length of the Hall to the doorway leading to her father's presence chamber.

The chamberlain outside the chamber waited until she was near the threshold before he banged his staff on the floor, calling out "The Lady Mary" in a clear, carrying voice and warning those within the room of her approach.

Her father was sitting on his throne, resplendent in crimson and cloth of gold and wearing his crown. He glanced up as she entered but his expression was hard and it did not soften, even as she made the three deep curtsies required of her by etiquette; one as she entered the room, one as she approached her father and one as she reached the foot of the dais. She remained on her knees after the last one, keeping her head bowed and knowing better than to look up until she was invited to rise.

About a dozen courtiers, including Anne's father and brother, were present and, although she didn't look at them, Mary could imagine the victorious smiles that would be on the faces of the Boleyn men, who were certain to be delighted that she had yielded at last, knowing that by doing so, she was helping to secure the positions of their kin. Her stomach churned at the thought and she felt as though she might vomit if she glanced in their direction and saw their triumphant grins.

"Lady Mary." Her father greeted her at last. There was no warmth in his voice, none of the fatherly love that she was accustomed to hearing from him when she was a child but there was no harshness in his voice either, at least none that she could detect. He kept her on her knees for another few moments before motioning for her to stand. "Rise."

Mary stood but she kept her head slightly bowed as she greeted her father. "Your Majesty."

"We have received your letter, expressing that it is now your wish to take the Oath of Succession."

Had the situation not been so serious, had her life itself not been in danger if she failed to prove her loyalty, Mary might have laughed scornfully at her father's choice of words. Her wish to take the Oath? As though she didn't wish that Anne Boleyn had never been born to set into motion the chain of events that led to the creation of the vile oath in the first place. As though she hadn't been hounded for years to swear, with men sent to Hatfield to cajole her to swear or even to threaten her with imprisonment or execution if she refused to do so. As though they hadn't continued to hound her, even in exile, refusing to allow her any peace until she yielded at last.

The only reason she was prepared to swear now was because Ambassador Mendoza intimated that her life would be in danger if she continued to refuse, a warning Mary could not ignore.

Nothing less would have induced her to agree but she knew better than to even hint at the true reasons for her capitulation. She had to convince her father of her sincerity, to make him believe that she now understood that he had been right all along while she and her mother were wrong or, at the very least to make a sufficiently convincing show of submission that would enable her father to tell himself that she was sincere in her capitulation.

He would accept nothing less.

"Yes, Your Majesty. I see now that I was gravely mistaken to refuse before, when my sovereign and my father bade me to swear and prove myself to be a true, loyal and obedient subject." She said, keeping her tone meek and making a shallow curtsey before she finally looked up at her father, seeing him at close quarters for the first time in years. He might have aged well but that he had aged was undeniable. She remembered a young, almost boyish papa, a King who was content to leave most of the business of governing his country to the hands of his trusted advisors and servants so that he would be free to devote more of his time to the pursuits he delighted in. Now she saw an older man, still handsome but one who lacked the carefree youthfulness she remembered. Wolsey was gone now, leaving him to govern by himself, and it was plain that the cares of state had left their mark.

He was not unhappy, though. She could see that in his eyes, just as she could see that he had been quite content to live without her in his life for all these years. His eyes betrayed relief at her willingness to take the Oath, at his knowledge that once she did, his children by Anne would be more secure but she couldn't see any hint of joy over the fact that he was able to welcome her back to court at last, to see her again after an absence of so many years.

It hurt her to see that.

Her father studied her closely for several long moments, not saying a word as he scrutinized her face for signs of deception but Mary was careful to school her face into an expression into an innocent, repentant one and to allow no hint of her true feelings to show.

"You understand that you are no princess – and that you should never have laid claim to that title?" Her father tested her. "You understand that my marriage to your mother was no true union in the sight of God?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." Mary had expected the question and had prepared an answer, one that she knew would satisfy her father. "My mother, the Princess Dowager of Wales, was the widow of my uncle, Prince Arthur, and as such, she was forbidden to marry her husband's brother. The marriage was an unlawful, incestuous one and its issue illegitimate. I understand that I may not claim to be a princess – though I have the honour of being Your Majesty's natural daughter." Even as she spoke the words, she said a silent prayer that her mother would be able to forgive her for voicing these lies, to understand that she would have liked nothing more than to be able to refuse and that only fear for her life could have prompted her to swear.

She could hear a murmur of satisfaction and guessed that it came from the Duke of Wiltshire. She wished that she could have been spared the discomfort of having to own herself a bastard in front of the man who brought her the news of the fact that Archbishop Cranmer had declared her parents' marriage void and her father's union with Anne to be valid, coldly informing her that she was no longer entitled to style herself Princess and that she was henceforth to be known as simply Lady Mary. Six and a half years ago, she told the odious man that her mother was Queen of England and that she would accept no other in his place. Today he was watching her eat those words, repudiating her mother and renouncing her rights.

It was cruel of her father to allow Anne's kin to be present to witness her submission!

Was it not enough for him to know that she had yielded without him inviting others to be present to witness as she was brought low, left with a choice between abandoning her principles, failing to hold to what she knew to be the truth, and risking execution on the orders of her own father, without him adding to her humiliation?

Of course, even if she had dared to voice that thought, she knew what kind of answer she could expect from her father; if she was sincere in her capitulation, if she was telling the truth when she said that she now understood that her parents' marriage was invalid, that she was a bastard and that she was wrong to ever deny that, she should not mind who was present when she finally consented to admit the truth.

Thankfully, her father seemed satisfied with what she had said and did not press her any further, at least not publicly. He rose from his throne, stepping down from the dais and walking towards a door at the back of the room, leading into a private chamber. "Come with me, Lady Mary." He instructed, motioning for her to follow him.

Inside the room, a man dressed in a secretary's plain black garments awaited them. He bowed deeply to Henry, giving Mary a respectful nod. "Your Majesty, my lady." He greeted them.

Henry indicated the Bible sitting on the lectern with a wave of his hand. Mary barely managed to suppress a grimace when she saw by the cover that it was a copy of Tyndale's English translation, instead of a proper Latin copy. "Master Warren will lead you in the Oath." He told her, waiting for her to approach the man.

"Will you place your right hand on this Bible, my lady?" Master Warren asked courteously, waiting until she had complied before he began to ask the prescribed questions, asking her to swear that she acknowledged her father's union with Anne to be a true, valid one, that she acknowledged the right of their issue to be the first rightful heirs to the throne and would be willing to fight for their rights if they were ever challenged, and finally that she acknowledged that her father was Supreme Head of the Church of England.

Ambassador Mendoza had hinted that, in cases where an oath was taken under duress, the pope could issue a dispensation absolving those who swore it of guilt for their actions but even that knowledge did not make it easier for Mary to pretend that she denounced the Holy Father, accepting her own father as the supreme authority over the English church in his place.

Despite her misgivings, she swore, accepting a quill from Master Warren to sign her name to each of the clauses, providing her father with physical evidence of her submission, in case she ever sought to deny that she had sworn.

She was hard-pressed to keep the tears from flowing as she signed her name to the last clause, to ensure that no hint of the distress she was feeling showed on her face and she was rewarded with a small smile from her father, the first she had had from him in years.

"Thank you, Mary." He said, nodding to Master Warren to indicate that he should leave before approaching the Bible himself, indicating that she should place her hand on it again. "I am pleased to see that you have finally come to your senses and seen the truth." He told her. "But before I can welcome you back to court, there is one final matter we must deal with. I am not going to ask you about what happened in the past," he had made up his mind on that score as soon as he decided that Mary was to be received at court, thinking that it was likely to be the only way they could move past what she had done, "but I need to know that it will not happen again."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Joan had predicted that Mary's father would not be willing to allow the issue of her supposed involvement in the attempt on Anne's life to go entirely unremarked but she had stressed that it was important that Mary not try to convince him of her innocence. That he was willing to invite her to court showed that he was willing to move on from what he believed had happened but if she protested her innocence, which could not be proved as her alleged accomplices were both dead, there was a very real risk that he would take it as evidence that she did not regret it, and that he had cause to worry that she would try again.

Once Mary's hand was placed over the Bible, Henry met his daughter's gaze squarely. "I want you to swear, on your immortal soul, that you will never try to harm Queen Anne, or our children again." He instructed her. Mary was devout, he knew that. She would never break an oath sworn on her soul. If she made this promise, he could feel more at ease about having her at court, in close proximity to his wife and with an opportunity to be around the children when they visited.

This was a promise that Mary could make easily enough; she had no intention of committing murder, after all. "I swear on my immortal that I will not harm them in any way." She vowed.

She hoped that her father would notice her significant omission of the word 'again' and realize that she had taken no part in planning the previous attempt made on Anne's life but he did not seem to notice it. He smiled at her, however, his approval plain.

"Thank you, my daughter." He said, referring to her as such for the first time since she returned. "I am sure that you must be wondering what will happen to you now that you are to be allowed to return to court."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Mary had considered this question on her journey to London. She anticipated that, at best, she would be provided with a suitable apartment, perhaps not as richly furnished as those she would have occupied as a princess but certainly larger and more comfortable that the rooms she occupied at the More, along with a suitable household – and the fact that she was allowed to bring Joan to court with her was surely a favourable sign in that respect. At worst, she expected that she was to be sent back to Hatfield, resuming her old position in attendance on Elizabeth.

"Her Majesty, Queen Anne has been kind enough to allow you a place in her household, as one of her ladies-in-waiting." Henry said, his tone suggesting that he considered that to be a great concession on Anne's part and one that Mary should be suitably grateful for.

Mary was wise enough to recognize it as a test; she had just admitted that she was a bastard, after all, and a bastard should consider herself honoured to be permitted to be a member of the Queen's household. If she truly believed that she was illegitimate, if she truly meant it when she said that she knew that she was not entitled to call herself a princess, then she could have no possible objection to the position. Although she rebelled inwardly at the mere thought of having to behave as a servant to Anne, she allowed no sign of that to show on her face, masking her feelings with a pleasant smile.

"It is very kind of the Queen to honour me with such a position." She said, the words tasting bitter in her mouth.

Henry nodded his approval. "It is, and I hope that you will prove yourself worthy of the honour." Although he did not intend that his daughter's position in her stepmother's household should be a permanent one, he gave no hint of that. If Mary knew that she could expect a more exalted place at court after she spent a sufficient length of time attending Anne, then he would never be able to be certain whether her good behaviour and diligent service stemmed from true acceptance of her new place or from a desire to improve it as speedily as possible.

"I will, Your Majesty." Mary promised, inwardly wondering if her father could ever truly manage to convince himself that she would ever be able to look on service in Anne's household as anything other than an unpleasant duty, one that she would not carry out if she had a choice in the matter.

"Good." Henry told her. "You will be conducted to your chamber now, and you will begin your duties in the morning."

Part of him wanted to tell Mary how pleased he was to see her again, to fold her in his arms and kiss her as he would have years ago, when she was still a little girl, but he resisted the impulse.

It was too soon.

Mary had made a good beginning by taking the Oath and by indicating her willingness to serve Anne but she still had a long way to go before she was able to completely assure him of her loyalty.

Until she did, he would have to wait and see how things went.

* * *

**_7th October 1539_ **

Catherine Howard's eyes were as wide as saucers as she followed her uncle through a maze of corridors, lined with exquisite tapestries and portraits of members of the royal family. Uncle Norfolk told her that, while he was prepared to escort her to the Queen's apartments today, he had no intention of making himself available to conduct her around the palace every time she got lost so she needed to pay attention now, memorizing the route so that she would know it next time.

She listened to his admonition with only half an ear; if she did get lost, there were hundreds of servants in the palace, perhaps even a thousand. One of them would be able to show her where she ought to go if she managed to get lost. If she could not find a servant, her brother Charles was also to come to court, to join their uncle's retinue and she knew that he would be willing to lend her any assistance she needed, even if their uncle was unwilling to do so. Unlike her, he had an excellent sense of direction and would undoubtedly know the sprawling palace and extensive grounds like the back of his hand before he was here a fortnight.

She was far more interested in her opulent surroundings. She had known that the palace where the King and Queen made their home was certain to be a very large, very grand one but she had never expected anything like this!

When she first left her home to live with her grandmother, the Dowager Duchess, she thought that Lambeth was grand, a palace fit for royalty compared to the neglected manor where she spent her early years, and it was so large that in her first weeks there, she despaired of ever being able to find her way around without one of the servants acting as her guide but Lambeth could have fitted into a small corner of Whitehall, and compared to the King's residence, it was a plain, austere dwelling.

The other girls were so envious when word came that she was to have a place at court!

She was sure that any one of them would have given her eye teeth to be here now in her stead, about to enter the service of the Queen, especially since Queen Anne was still quite young, and known to be fond of music and dancing. If she was to be sent to serve a pious old lady who would insist that her ladies spend their time praying and sewing, shut away from the company of men like nuns in a convent, then she would rather stay at Lambeth.

"It's just down this corridor, the door at the end." Her uncle told her, gesturing with a wave of his hand. He stopped in his tracks, indicating that Catherine should do the same. "You had best tidy yourself before you are presented to Her Majesty," he instructed, waiting while she straightened her hood and brushed her gown carefully, to make sure that it wasn't crumpled.

That would be another great advantage to her new place; now that she was at court, she was going to have to have more money for gowns and hoods and even a few jewels. She was in attendance on the Queen of England herself, and she was also a Howard. Her guardians would have to see to it that she dressed in a manner that was suitable to her family and to her position, even if they resented digging into their purses to ensure that she was properly provided for.

"How do I look, Uncle?" She asked, twirling so that he could see how pretty she looked in her plum coloured gown. Her stepgrandmother favoured her grey velvet gown for her trip to court, grimly observing that the last thing they wanted was for the Queen to think that they had placed a frivolous, empty-headed girl in her household and duped her into taking responsibility for her. She had other ideas, however, and she had no intention of appearing in court in her hated grey gown, one that always made her look older than her years and drained her face of its usual high colour. She didn't want her cousin to take one look at her and dismiss her as a poor relation, an object of pity at best and scorn at worst, and she certainly didn't want her to think that she was a dowdy creature, unworthy of a place at court.

She knew well that if she was dismissed, whatever the cause, justified or unjustified, both her uncle and her stepgrandmother would be exceedingly angry with her and she would hear of their displeasure, loudly and in no uncertain terms, as soon as she was back at Lambeth.

This was her chance, the best and perhaps only chance that she would have, and she wouldn't waste it.

Her uncle surveyed her grimly before speaking. "You'll do, I suppose." He allowed grudgingly, thinking that Anne was going to have her hands full with her young cousin, as he was likely to have with her brother. Charles was a good-natured youth but not a particularly bright one and only family duty could ever have prompted Norfolk to welcome the boy into his household. However, Charles was athletic at least, fond of sport and of games of chance, so perhaps he might be able to catch the King's eye and become one of his favoured companions.

Catherine gave him a playful curtsey. "Thank you, Uncle."

"Mind you behave yourself, girl." Norfolk warned her sternly. "You know well that you are very fortunate that I was able to obtain this place for you, something that you should be very thankful for. There are hundreds of girls who would give anything to have an opportunity like this, and any one of them could take your place in a heartbeat. You may be cousin to the Queen but Anne isn't going to keep you in her household if you act like a fool... or worse." He added, studying the girl's rosy face, unable to keep from wondering if she was truly innocent, as his stepmother had vowed was the case, or if she had taken advantage of the lax supervision at Lambeth to behave in a manner than no nobly born girl should ever dream of.

"Yes, Uncle." Catherine responded, sobering immediately. She knew that she was going to have to be very careful at court. The other girls at Lambeth had all teased her – out of jealousy, she was sure; they must have been eaten alive with jealousy to know that they would never have a chance like the one she was being offered – warning her that if anybody at court ever found out the truth about her, she would be out of the Queen's household and out of the court altogether before she knew what had hit her.

She didn't want to believe it, especially of her cousin.

The Queen knew all about being in love, she was sure of that. Everybody knew how long she and the King had to wait before they could be together and how they never gave up, no matter how many people tried to stop them. It was one of the most romantic stories Catherine had ever heard, one that was especially thrilling because of her knowledge that the same Howard blood that flowed in her veins also flowed through Anne's, although Anne, having inherited her Howard from the distaff side, did not bear the name. She was sure that the heroine of that story would be far kinder and far more understanding than her uncle, her stepgrandmother or anybody else would ever be.

It was such a relief to know that she was free of her stepgrandmother and that she would henceforth make her home with her cousin.

She would make sure that the Queen was never given cause to regret granting her this place.

Thankfully, her uncle was satisfied with her response and did not press her any further, waiting until she had checked her gown one last time before preparing to walk the remaining distance down the corridors to the Queen's apartment but before they could take another step, they heard the sound of approaching footsteps behind them and turned to see two women walking along the corridor.

The older of the women greeted Norfolk with a smile and a curtsey, although he gave her only the barest nod in return. "Uncle." She greeted, before looking at Catherine with a smile. "And this must be my cousin, Catherine."

"Kitty!" She blurted before she could stop herself. Her uncle frowned reprovingly at her but she didn't care. Catherine was a name chiefly reserved for when she had transgressed in some manner or another. Apart from that, she had been Kitty for as long as she could remember. She bobbed a curtsey to the woman, wincing when it wound up being far less graceful than she had intended it to be, wondering who she was but knowing better than to ask. She was a member of the Howard clan, certainly, if Uncle Norfolk was her uncle too but that did not narrow it down very much, not when there were so many Howards around.

"This is Lady Mary Stafford – the Queen's sister." Norfolk introduced, before turning his attention to the younger woman, a thin smile creasing his face as he regarded her. She did not say a word but Kitty could sense that her opinion of Uncle Norfolk was far from high. "And this is the Lady Mary, the King's daughter. She is also here to serve Her Majesty." He introduced, not even rebuking Kitty when she gaped at the other girl, forgetting her manners in her amazement at the thought that the King's daughter, even his illegitimate daughter, was to be one of her fellow ladies-in-waiting. "And we had best not keep the Queen waiting." He extended his arm to Kitty and she took it, allowing him to guide her down the hall, where a sentry was waiting to knock for them. Once the door opened, Norfolk released his young niece's arm. "Good luck." He told her, his eyes warning her to behave.

With a nod in Mary Stafford's direction, he departed.

The lady who opened the door for them had dark curly hair and was wearing a gown that was almost the twin of the one that Mary Stafford wore; of ivory silk with a crown embroidered in gold thread on the bodice. Peering past the lady at the others in the room, Kitty noted that they were all dressed alike and she wondering if she and Lady Mary would also be given gowns like those.

Once they were admitted to the room, yet another lady came forward to greet them. "Lady Mary, Mistress Howard." Her tone was cool when she greeted Lady Mary but Kitty imagined that it thawed slightly when she spoke her name. "Her Majesty will be here in a moment. You are not to speak anything to her until you are invited to."

"We won't." Kitty promised. She was surprised to see Lady Mary's face crease in a brief frown, as though she was angry with her for speaking on her behalf, but the frown disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared, so quickly that she half-believed that she had imagined it.

As if she had planned her entrance, the Queen appeared a moment later, resplendent in a gown of crimson silk, encrusted with rubies and embellished with gold embroidery. As soon as she appeared, all of the ladies curtsied deeply and the chaplain sitting in the corner of the room bowed. Kitty had never seen anybody dressed so splendidly and she was pleased to see that her cousin was a beautiful woman, as she had pictured her to be. Anne didn't say anything to her when she glanced in her direction but she gave her a slight, encouraging smile.

At her signal, the chaplain moved towards the Bible sitting on the lectern, beckoning for Kitty and Lady Mary to approach. "Lady Mary, Mistress Howard, will you place your hands on this Holy Bible, and will you promise and swear to serve Her Majesty Queen Anne faithfully, honourably and discreetly? And will you promise and swear that your conduct will always be modest, virtuous and good, presenting at all times a godly spectacle to others?"

Mary watched, half-amused, half-disgusted, as Kitty eagerly clapped her hand to the Bible to swear, looking almost as though she feared that she would be robbed of the opportunity to do so if she didn't hurry when she had the chance.

She wondered when Anne had instituted this oath, one she was sure her mother's attendants had never had to take. Her mother's attendants – with a few exceptions, including Anne herself – were loyal to her and did not need to be made to swear an oath to ensure that loyalty.

Was it something that she devised for Mary's benefit, so that she would be able to assure herself that she had no reason to fear that her new attendant might try to do something to her, or had she demanded it of all of her ladies from the very beginning, hoping to safeguard against any of them seeking to follow her example and beat her at her own game, winning the King away from her and hoping to displace her?

Once Kitty had sworn the oath and been greeted by Anne, who gave her a kind smile, it was Mary's turn. They were all watching her expectantly, waiting to see if she would comply or if this would prove to be too much for her to take, if she would rebel against the thought of swearing an oath of loyalty to the woman standing in her mother's place and thereby prove that she had lied when she swore to her father than she accepted Anne as Queen.

She had taken the Oath of Succession, she could take this one too.

She placed her hand on the Bible, looking up to meet Anne's eyes as she swore. "I do so promise and swear." She prayed that her mother would be able to forgive her for what she had had to do.

She had always known that restoration to her father's favour would have a high price.

It was only after she had sworn that Anne finally consented to acknowledge her, allowing her to speak. "Lady Mary."

Mary curtsied, hating herself for doing so. "Your Majesty."

Although Anne smiled faintly, her expression was unreadable. Even Mary couldn't tell whether the woman was pleased by her triumph or whether Anne might be just as unhappy to have her in her service as Mary was to be there. After the briefest of pauses, she spoke. "Welcome to court."


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**_8th October 1539_ **

When Mary was a young girl, her governess often told her that she should be thankful for her blessings, and that it would be far better for her to direct her thoughts towards being grateful for what she had instead of dwelling on what she did not have and feeling resentment over that.

After their departure to Ludlow Castle, the first time that Mary was separated from her mother for any significant length of time since the day she was born, Lady Salisbury had discouraged tears and fretting. It might be a blow for Mary to have to leave her mother and the palace that had been her home since the day she was born but she should be thankful for the fact that she was being honoured as Princess of Wales, and remember that she was the first Princess of England to ever be granted the honours usually reserved for male heirs. She should be pleased and proud that her father was bestowing such honours on her and strive to prove that she was worthy of them. She would also be able to study hard and practice her music and embroidery diligently, so that her mother would be proud of her accomplishments when she next came to visit her.

Although she was initially inclined to be upset over the fact that she was being sent away, Mary found herself being persuaded by her governess' sentiments, taking pride in her status as Princess of Wales, in having a household of her own and in learning the lessons that a future Queen should know, taking pleasure in the acclaim of the people who called out blessings to her on her journey from London to Ludlow and when she went out among them in Wales, anticipating her mother's visits and the opportunity to show her what she had learned, and hoping that when her father heard how well she was doing, he would also be proud of her… proud enough to forget that he had ever felt so much as a twinge of disappointment over her sex.

Mary tried to imagine how Lady Salisbury would attempt to persuade her that there was a silver lining to the dark cloud of her service in Anne's household, picturing her governess forcing a smile on her face as she pointed out that although she was back at court as a bastard rather than as a princess and although she had yielded to the pressure to take the Oath, something she had once sworn she would never do, there were still many things that she should feel thankful for. She could almost hear her governess' brisk, no-nonsense voice enumerating the advantages of her new position and admonishing her to feel thankful for them.

She was no longer at the More, for one thing. She no longer had to make her home at the dismal manor where her mother had died, attended by a small household who were her jailers as much as they were her servants. She was no longer a prisoner and, although she knew that she would need her father's permission to leave the court, just as she had needed Sir William's permission when she wished to go out walking or riding at the More, she would have the run of the palace and the grounds whenever she was not occupied with her duties in Anne's household and she would also be able to speak to the courtiers who made Whitehall their home, some of whom might sympathize with her and support her.

For the first time in years, she was also back in the same residence as her father, which meant that she would have an opportunity to see him often. She was sure that, despite everything that had happened, he still loved and cared for her so she had to believe that he would not want to continue to force her to endure the indignities of a servant's life much longer, not when she had yielded to his will and, to his mind, proven her loyalty to him with her repudiation of her mother.

She knew enough about her father to know that he was very likely to be pleased with those who gave him what he wanted and he had wanted her to say that he was right for a long time.

Surely this was a temporary measure, a way for her father to show the court – not to mention Anne, who was certain to have been put out when he announced his intentions to welcome Mary back to court and who would be glad of the opportunity to coax him into banishing his daughter back to the More, where she need no longer worry that the King would soften towards her – that she accepted her reduced status as a bastard and, once he was satisfied that his point was made, he would release her from her duties, allowing her more suitable accommodation and status.

As well as that, although she loathed the indignity of having to act as one of Anne's ladies-in-waiting, Mary was honest enough to admit that she was being treated somewhat better than she had ever expected to be.

When her father first told her of his intention to assign her to Anne's household, she was half-convinced that Anne would delight in the opportunity to humiliate her and make it plain to her and to the rest of the court that she viewed her as the lowest of her servants, deserving nothing but contempt for her supposed bastard status and previous refusals to yield, treating her as Lady Bryan treated her at Hatfield but instead of being singled out for unfavourable treatment she was actually granted certain privileges that the other young women in Anne's service were not.

Instead of sharing a bedchamber with two or three other unmarried ladies, Lady Mary Stafford had explained that Anne thought she would prefer to be lodged in a chamber of her own, to allow her some privacy. Her new home at court was pleasant, panelled room, fairly large in size and comfortably furnished, with a view of the gardens. She was also permitted to keep Joan in her service, with her wages paid by the royal Privy Purse, and the two of them were allotted a bouche of the court – a daily allowance of bread, meat, ale, candles and firewood distributed to all those who resided at court, depending on their station – that was far more than their needs required.

Her father had also supplied her with a gift of two hundred sovereigns, to enable her to replenish her wardrobe and allow her to purchase the necessities for life at court, along with some luxuries. It was more money than she had been supplied with at any one time since the day she was first declared illegitimate and, although she was disappointed that no mention had been made of any permanent allowance her father intended to pay to her, a regular, fixed income that she could rely on in the future and plan her spending around, the gift was still a good sign of how generous she might expect her father to be in the future.

But all that couldn't change the fact that she was Anne's servant.

When she was in service at Hatfield, she thought that nothing could be more humiliating than having to wait on little Elizabeth, pretending that the child was a princess and watching the infant accorded royal honours by other members of the household, along with any guests who were permitted to visit, but at least Elizabeth was a King's daughter. She had royal blood flowing in her veins, after all, and there was no shame in that, even if she was born on the wrong side of the blanket and even if her mother was only a knight's daughter. Although it was an insult for a true princess to be expected to wait on a bastard, Mary could see why Elizabeth's other attendants might feel that they were honoured and privileged to have the care of a King's child.

With Anne, it was different.

If the woman had a strain of royal blood in her veins, as was claimed, it was so diluted by the generations separating Anne from her royal ancestor that it was scarcely worth mentioning. She could boast noble connections on the distaff side, nobody could deny that the Howards were among the first families in England, but the Boleyn family was hardly an exalted one, at least before Anne caught Mary's father's eye and Anne's father was elevated to the peerage as a result. Anne was scarcely better born than most of her other ladies – in fact, several of them were her kinswomen – and not as well born as some of them. Mary certainly didn't think that her so-called stepmother deserved the respect or the service of a young woman of English and Spanish royal blood, a woman whose grandparents numbered three monarchs in their own right while the fourth was the eldest daughter of a King and who was, by rights, the only true Princess.

But there was nothing she could do about it now.

When she took the Oath, when she pledged her loyalty to her father, she should have known that he would seek to test that loyalty and guessed the form that his test would take.

She had to serve Anne, she had to do it with a smile on her face and with all outward deference. She could never allow herself to give Anne even the slightest hint that she was insincere in her capitulations or to allow her face to betray what she really thought of the woman. She could give her no reason to run to the King with complaints about her.

It was the only way that Mary could hope to please her father, persuade him that she was loyal and trustworthy and make him more kindly disposed towards her, even if the thought of doing so made her very reluctant to get out of bed in the morning.

If serving Anne was what she had to do, she would not whimper at her task.

Joan was an early riser and was up before dawn, lighting a fire and setting out plates of bread and meat, along with mugs of ale, for their breakfast. At least three of Anne's ladies, including her sister, had stressed to Mary that it was vital that she be there in good time this morning, and every morning, so that she could assist in the morning tasks, including attending Anne at breakfast and helping her dress. Punctuality was very important for a member of the Queen's household and any shirking of duties was frowned on.

As Queen, Anne would have to be attended at all times but Mary could also expect to have leisure hours, during which she could roam the palace as she pleased and spend time playing cards or music. If she wished, there would also be the opportunity to take part in masques and pageants, which Anne enjoyed arranging and which she encouraged her attendants to take part in but Mary couldn't imagine availing of that opportunity. It was not that she disapproved of masques; they had taken place at court when she was a child, when her mother still had her place as Queen, and Mary had always enjoyed watching them but, given Anne's known interest in display and theatrics, she was bound to take a personal interest in any masques and the last thing Mary wanted was to spend more time in the woman's company.

Mary wasn't hungry and, although she knew that she should eat while she had the chance, as she would not have the opportunity to do so again until the noon meal in the Great Hall, she could only force herself to take a few mouthfuls of bread, washing it down with some ale.

"Won't you take a little more, my lady?" Joan suggested when Mary pushed away an almost untouched plate. "You'll be hungry later if you don't."

"I'll be fine." Mary said dismissively, wiping her mouth with a linen napkin and allowing her maid to clear away her plate and her uneaten meat while she folded her napkin and set it down.

Once the table was cleared, Joan helped her to get dressed for the day. Yesterday, a seamstress had measured her and Kitty Howard so they could be outfitted with the same ivory and cream gowns that Anne's other ladies wore while they went about their duties and a haberdasher would send over the matching hoods as soon as they were made but, until those outfits were ready, they might wear what they liked, provided that their attire was suitable and modest.

During her time at the More, Mary's father was reasonably generous when it came to her dress allowance. He certainly did not provide her with the kind of funds that she might have expected if she was still given her due as a princess, residing at the court and needing to dress finely and supply herself with jewels as befitted her station but she also never lacked necessities, as she had at Hatfield, from time to time, when the meagre funds allotted for her attire were not sent. However, although she was able to afford to dress well these days, she favoured dark colours for her gowns. While Joan did not say anything as she helped her into one of her black gowns, lacing the bodice tightly, she could see that her maid did not approve of her sombre garb, thinking it unsuitable for a King's daughter, particularly a young, unmarried one.

It was true that Mary was likely to stand out, given that Anne's ladies all wore lighter colours and Kitty Howard did not seem like a girl who would dress in any colour she deemed to be in any way drab, not if she was given the choice, but Mary was not averse to the idea of standing out.

She would never have dreamed of setting foot in Anne's rooms looking shabby, like a poor relation, but she also did not want to look as though she belonged in Anne's service, as one lady-in-waiting among many.

Once she was laced into her gown, her hair combed and her headdress straightened, she had no further excuse for delay and was obliged to begin to make her way to Anne's quarters.

Yesterday, Lady Shelton offered to send a page to Mary's room in the morning so that he could escort her to Anne's apartments, apartments that were once occupied by Mary's mother and that she knew almost as well as she knew the rooms at Whitehall that once made up her nursery. She couldn't tell whether Lady Shelton meant well – and the woman's sweet, open face and nervous smile made it difficult to believe that she could be capable of spite, even if she was Anne's cousin – or if she was trying to mock Mary with the fact that Anne had usurped her mother's quarters, stealing them as she had stolen her husband, her title and even her official jewels.

She declined the offer politely but firmly, coolly telling Lady Shelton that she would be able to find her way unaided.

Joan called out to her as she left, warning her to be careful that she was polite today, and didn't give Anne any cause for complaint. Had the admonition come from anybody else, Mary would have found the implication that she could not be trusted to behave herself civilly around Anne to be insulting, especially when she knew exactly what was at stake and how important it was that she took care to do nothing that would jeopardize her fragile position at court and in her father's affections, but she knew that Joan spoke out of genuine concern for her and for her welfare, so she merely nodded in response, leaving her chamber to make her way through the corridors to Anne's rooms.

When she entered, the ladies of Anne's household were busying themselves lighting a fire, tidying the large outer chamber and laying the table in front of the fire for breakfast. They went about their duties efficiently, with the ease of long practice, but they also worked in almost total silence, something Mary found puzzling, remembering the way her mother's ladies used to chat quietly amongst themselves as they worked… until she glanced in the direction of the bedchamber.

The heavy curtain that separated the bedchamber from the rest of the apartment was only partially drawn but it was enough to allow Mary to look in at the great, carved bed that dominated the room, and at the two figures still sleeping in it.

Her father's expression was so peaceful that Mary found it difficult to believe that she was looking at the same man who had regarded her so sternly yesterday when she was first admitted to his presence, his expression unyielding even as she humbled herself before him, finally taking the Oath he had wanted her to take for years. Anne was nestled in his embrace, his arms circling her waist gently and protectively. Anne's cheeks were slightly flushed from sleep and her expression was utterly contented, reminiscent of the way Mary remembered Elizabeth looking when she took her naps as a toddler.

As much as the sight hurt her, for a long moment Mary could not tear her eyes from the bed.

When she lived at Hatfield, it was very rare for Chapuys to be able to sneak letters to her, especially since Lady Bryan made sure to keep a watchful eye on her at all times, alert for signs that one of the servants in Elizabeth's household might be more warmly disposed towards the child's elder half-sister than Anne would wish or, worse still, that they might know that Mary was the true Princess while Elizabeth nothing more than a bastard and the unwitting usurper of Mary's rightful title. Any communication from Chapuys, any news of the world outside Hatfield, was welcome but, aside from letters about her mother – or, best of all, the few letters _from_ her mother that could be smuggled to her by the few friends who were able to help them evade those attempting to prevent communication between mother and daughter – the ones that gave her the most pleasure were those that described how the King's fancy was shifting from the harlot to another lady.

It was probably wrong of her to want to hope that her father was involved in more affairs outside marriage, sins that would mar his soul, just as it was probably unchristian for her to hope that Anne would feel pain at the thought that she was being cast aside and forgotten but Mary was always pleased to read the letters. For her, they represented the hope that, as her father had learned that Anne was just another woman, no different and no more fascinating than any other, he was certain to come to his senses and realize that he had nothing to lose and everything to gain if he returned to his true wife, abandoning his concubine once and for all.

Even if her father's pride would not allow him to admit that he had made a grave error when he sought to set her mother aside or when he began to believe that their marriage was accursed rather than a holy union that only God should have been able to set asunder, it was also a great relief to Mary to know that one of the women her father had his eye of was warmly disposed towards her. The idea of having to rely on the good will of one of her father's mistresses might be galling but Mary was not foolish enough to be ungrateful for the good offices of any lady who would be willing to go against Anne and speak to the King on her behalf, regardless of the reason why the lady in question had his ear.

Had her father married Jane Seymour, Mary was sure that she would have danced at their wedding with a light heart. She was realistic enough to know that, even if he had never sought to annul his marriage to her mother, her father was certain to remarry after her death, in the hopes of being able to father an heir. No matter how much he loved her, no matter how proud he was of her accomplishments, he would never be prepared to leave her as his only heir without at least trying to father a living son with a new wife.

With her mother dead, she would be obliged to accept her father's next wife as his Queen, just as she would be obliged to accept any sons born of the marriage as heirs ahead of her. As much as she believed that she should be England's next Queen, she knew that nobody, including her cousin the Emperor, would ever champion her rights as heir ahead of a legitimate son of her father.

Had her father married Anne – a true marriage, not the farcical ceremony that had taken place almost seven years ago during the harlot's first pregnancy, to allow them to pretend that Elizabeth was legitimate – after the death of his first wife then Mary knew that she would have had no alternative but to agree that the woman was Queen, and that, although Anne's first two children were illegitimate, having been conceived during her mother's lifetime, any subsequent issue would be legitimate and eligible to succeed to the throne, no matter how much it hurt to yield to Anne Boleyn as Queen or to accept that a son born from that harlot's womb would become heir ahead of her by rights.

They would never have done that, of course. Neither Anne nor her father would ever be willing to admit the truth or to show that they knew it by making their marriage vows again in a true ceremony, something that would be tantamount to an admission that their first ceremony was invalid and that Mary's mother remained the King's true wife until the day she died. They would never allow anybody to see any acknowledgement from them that their union had been an unlawful one until now, or that Harry and Elizabeth were bastards while Mary was a Princess.

Their pride doomed them to continue to live in sin instead of regularizing their union.

As far as Mary was concerned, her father was a widower and, had he shown any sign of wanting to rid himself of Anne and marry another woman, Mary would support him wholeheartedly.

But that would never happen. Anne had won him back and now she held him firmly in her thrall once more, so firmly that he was willing to force his once cherished daughter to humiliate herself by acting as Anne's servant, just so he could bolster her position and those of their children.

He loved her.

The scene before her was one of comfortable domesticity, a blissful couple sleeping contentedly together.

When Mary caught sight of a half-grown puppy dozing in a cushioned basket next to the bed, it seemed to fit with the scene.

As though sensing her gaze upon him, the puppy stirred from his slumber, barking loudly at the sight of her and darting to the bed, leaping onto it and standing guard over Anne, as though he believed that Mary posed some kind of threat to his mistress. To her dismay, his barking rousing the slumbering pair, who began to stir at the sound.

Mary withdrew from the doorway as quickly as she could, her cheeks burning as she listened to Anne soothing the dog's barking, asking him what had upset him so much and chiding him lightly for making such a noise, and to her father stirring in the bed, remarking that they had slept late this morning and teasing Anne about how they had worn one another out the previous night. Much to her relief, none of the ladies of Anne's household seemed to have noticed that she had been watching her father and Anne or, if they had, they were kind enough to refrain from drawing attention to it.

Mistress Saville, who had been supervising Kitty Howard while she filled a great silver bowl with warm water and strewed it with rose petals, waited until the King had put on his robe over his nightshirt and left the bedchamber before hurrying in to help Anne on with hers.

Kitty Howard dropped a flustered curtsey as the King approached her, feeling so overawed that she was afraid that she might knock the bowl over him.

Henry, sensing her nervousness, gave her a kind smile, wanting Anne's kinswoman to feel at ease. "You must be the Queen's cousin, Catherine – or is it Kitty?" He asked genially.

"Kitty, Your Majesty." She responded with another curtsey, slightly more graceful this time.

"Welcome to court, Kitty." Henry told her absently, while he washed his face and hands in the water before drying them on the soft linen towel that Mistress Gainsford passed to him. "Are you pleased to be here with us, and in the Queen's service?" He asked, although he already knew the answer to his question before he voiced it. Kitty's shining eyes and pink cheeks, flushed with excitement and pleasure, made it plain that she was delighted to have the opportunity to serve as lady-in-waiting. His gaze fell on his daughter next, a young woman who was clearly as unhappy to be here as Kitty was pleased. When she sensed his gaze upon her, Mary attempted to smile, to pretend that she was content with her new lot in life, but her smile did not meet her eyes. Henry inclined his head in Mary's direction. "Good morning, Lady Mary."

If Mary was unhappy to have to act as lady-in-waiting, that was too bad.

Had it not been for her previous obstinacy, her refusal to admit the truth and, worst of all, her attempt to harm Anne, he would have been able to welcome her into a more exalted position at court, as he could have trusted that Mary would know that his generosity in allowing her to be comfortably housed and well attended, as befitted a King's daughter, did not mean that she was not a bastard or that she was entitled to any measure of the status she once claimed. Now, however, he was obliged to make her position clear to her and to anybody who might question it and that meant that Mary had to serve Anne, at least temporarily, for the sake of appearances.

Her future position at court and with the royal family would depend on how she conducted herself in that position.

Mary dipped a curtsey, keeping her head lowered. "Good morning, Your Majesty."

"Have your duties been explained to you?" Henry asked, a trifle sharply, noticing that, unlike the other ladies, Mary was not busy with some task or another. When he decided to appoint Mary to this position, after receiving Anne's assurance that she was willing to accept her stepdaughter as a member of her household and that she felt safe about doing so, he intended that Mary should be treated just as any of the others would be treated, which meant that she should also be assigned duties, as they were and that she should be subject to the same code of behaviour that Anne's other attendants adhered to. It was certainly not his wish that this should be an appointment in name only. Without waiting for Mary's response, he beckoned to Madge Shelton. "Lady Shelton, please instruct the Lady Mary in her duties." He commanded.

If the expression on Madge's face was any indication, she found the idea of taking charge of the King's daughter to show her what was expected of her now that she was in royal service to be a daunting one, to say the very least, but she did not argue. Instead, she nodded and curtsied deeply, before shyly asking Mary to follow her over to the table, where she was laying out gold plate and cutlery for breakfast, explaining the serving ceremony in hushed tones, detailing which ladies were responsible for serving food and whose duty it was to see that goblets of wine, ale or water were always kept topped up.

Mary held her tongue, refraining from pointing out that she was well acquainted with the ceremony for the meals of members of the royal family, ceremony that once revolved around her. After all, Lady Shelton could scarcely be held accountable for the fact that Mary had been assigned to Anne's household, or that she had been charged with the task of instructing her. Instead she listened, with all outward politeness, as the flustered woman explained what it was she should do, passing her two finger bowls and asking that she fill them with water.

Anne emerged from her chamber, wearing a robe of rich red velvet over her nightgown, her hair loose around her shoulders. She smiled at Kitty's eagerness to pour out the water for her to wash, amused and touched by her young cousin's earnest desire to prove herself worthy of her place in royal service, allowing the young girl to pour warm water over her hands and accepting a towel from Mistress Gainsford to dry them.

"How are you settling in, cousin?" She asked, deliberately choosing to use the familial term and hoping that it might put her at ease. She felt sorry for Kitty. She did not know the Dowager Duchess very well and, on the rare occasions when the old woman visited the court, she always made a huge fuss of Anne. She took huge pride in the fact that she was grandmother – she never used the 'step-' prefix with Anne as she did with the other grandchildren of the late Duke's first wife, preferring to behave as though they were blood kin – to the Queen of England but she doubted that the woman was anywhere near as gracious towards a poor relation handed into her care as a child, dependent on her for her upbringing and education. If Kitty's delight at coming to court was any indication, Lambeth was not a home that she would miss and she would be nervous about the prospect of being deemed unsatisfactory and dismissed. Anne wanted to reassure her that she did not need to worry about that. "Have you everything you need?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." Kitty bobbed a curtsey, looking up at Anne with an adoring, almost worshipful expression on her face. "Your Majesty is kind to be concerned – very, very kind."

Anne smiled at her by way of response but did not say anything else, hurrying through her washing. Mary hung back, intending to wait until Anne was finished washing and had moved on before she moved to carry out her assigned task, wanting to avoid the woman for as long as she possibly could but, to her dismay, Anne seemed to sense her gaze upon her and she turned around to look at her.

"Lady Mary," Her tone was fairly pleasant but her smile did not reach her eyes. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Your Majesty." Mary bobbed a curtsey, not wanting to meet Anne's eyes but not wanting to look down either, as though she was too overawed to look the 'Queen' in the face. Fortunately, her prayers that Anne would not stay to speak to her any longer were answered and, with an absent nod for Mary and another quick smile for Kitty, the woman moved towards the table, where Mary's father rose to hold out her chair, kissing her hand tenderly once he had seated her.

She had not been commanded to help serve breakfast to her father and Anne – perhaps they were afraid to let her near the food the woman would be eating, just in case she might have a mind to try to poison her – so once she had placed the finger bowls on the table for them, she was able to withdraw to the far corner of the room, putting as much distance between her and them as she could without actually leaving Anne's apartment altogether, something she knew better than to do without permission, from one of the senior ladies if not from Anne herself.

Seeing her move away, Kitty Howard followed after her, apparently thinking that, as Mary was also a newcomer to royal service, the two of them were natural allies.

"It's very exciting, isn't it, Lady Mary?" Kitty said in a hushed whisper, not wanting to disturb the King and Queen while they ate their breakfast. Her stepgrandmother often told her that she was too loud and too careless with her words than any young lady of gentle birth ought to be, warning her that if she was not careful to guard her tongue and to comport herself with becoming modesty, the Queen would lose no time in dismissing her from court and banishing her in disgrace. However, having met her cousin, she couldn't imagine that Anne would ever be unkind to her over so trivial a fault. Anne was sure to be far kinder and far more patient than her stepgrandmother or her uncle ever would be. "This is my first time coming to court; I've wanted to be a lady-in-waiting ever since the Dowager Duchess first told me that my cousin was to be Queen and that, if I behaved myself, she might find a place for me in her household..." Seeing that Mary wasn't listening, Kitty trailed off, wondering if she had said something amiss.

Perhaps the Lady Mary, as the daughter of the woman who was once called Queen, was put out to hear about how Kitty had felt when she learned that her cousin was to replace the woman... but that could not be the answer.

The Lady Mary had taken the Oath of Succession, admitting that she was illegitimate and that Queen Anne was the real Queen of England, she knew that. She heard her Uncle Norfolk sourly commenting that it was about time too, and that if the Lady Mary was his daughter, she would never have been permitted to remain stubborn over the matter for half as long as she had. He often swore that if the Lady Mary was his daughter, he would have given her a beating she would not soon forget if she remained defiant and Kitty believed him. If the Lady Mary had come to understand that Queen Anne was her father's real wife while her mother was just the Princess Dowager of Wales, then surely she could not object to Kitty referring to Queen Anne by her title.

She followed Mary's gaze, seeing her watch the royal couple eat their breakfast together, laughing and talking quietly. The King was teasing the Queen, dabbing the tip of her nose with honey before kissing it. Kitty had never imagined that a King and a Queen would behave this way and she smiled at the sight of it.

"He loves her very much," she said wistfully, more to herself than to the Lady Mary. Dereham had called her his wife and she called him husband but that was just a game, really, nothing more than that – though it was a game that could get her into a great deal of trouble, ruining her reputation and her future prospects if anybody should ever learn of it. Her uncle and her stepgrandmother would be furious if they heard even an inkling of what had happened and they would make her suffer for her folly. The Dowager Duchess and her uncle both indicated that, if she was able to behave herself and please her cousin with her service, Anne would arrange a marriage for her, a better one than she could ever hope for without her cousin's favour, and supply her with a suitable dowry. She hoped that when she was married, her husband would love her as much as the King loved Anne. "Lady Shelton told me that he hasn't slept away from her for years, even for one night..."

Mary tuned out the younger girl's words as best she could. It was certainly not something she wanted to hear and, looking at the couple, she could not pretend that it wasn't true. She watched her father and Anne chatting together, allowing Kitty's words to wash over her without actually taking them in until the mention of a name caught her attention.

"...Princess Elizabeth's birthday."

"What did you say?" Mary asked, wanting to know what was happening with her younger sister. Elizabeth wasn't even three when she left Hatfield. Did she remember the elder half-sister who was placed in her household or had she forgotten Mary entirely? Elizabeth's birthday was in September, in any case. Why would Kitty be talking about it a full month later.

"The royal children are to travel to court from Hatfield today, and stay here for a week at least." Kitty related, beaming at the thought of court celebrations, even if the festivities were to be held in honour of a six year old girl. "Because the King and Queen had to stay at Richmond when the Princess Elizabeth turned six, they're going to have a party for her now instead." She explained, feeling pity for a little girl who could not have her parents with her for her birthday party and feeling glad that the King and Queen were rectifying the omission now.

"Oh." Mary responded quietly, wondering why nobody had thought to mention it to her that her young half-siblings were coming to Whitehall. They told Kitty, who had never met either of them, but they didn't bother to tell her, when she had lived in the same household as her young sister for two and a half years. She could have expected that from Anne but for her father to neglect to mention that she could anticipate seeing her little sister soon was painful for her.

If she had ever doubted how excluded from her father's life she was now, she could no longer do so.

* * *

When Henry broached the idea of having Mary serve in her household for the foreseeable future, Anne consented, knowing that it was important for it to be clear to everybody that her stepdaughter was returning to court as a bastard, not as a princess, especially after the attempt made by the St. Barbara's rebels to force the issue of her succession rights. Mary's visible submission would help to bolster Elizabeth and Harry's positions and there was very little, if anything, that Anne would not have willingly done for her children's sakes.

However, that did not mean that she was entirely at ease with the idea of having a young woman who once conspired to murder her living in such close proximity to her.

Her sister had promised that she would see to it that she and the other senior ladies, like Nan Saville and Madge Shelton, kept a sufficiently sharp eye on the Lady Mary at all times, stressing that even if the girl seemed to be behaving herself and seemed to be reconciled to her new station, they would not automatically assume that this meant that there was no need to continue to keep an eye on her activities. She would be given no opportunity to do any harm, and if she dared to try, Henry would hear about it as soon as the Lady Mary did anything amiss and they could all imagine what his reaction would be. Daughter or not, she would pay the price if she tried anything.

It wasn't that Anne couldn't feel any measure of pity for Mary.

She doubted that she would ever be called the most sympathetic soul in the world but she still possessed enough of an imagination to know just how difficult it must have been for Mary when, as a child, a young girl who was accustomed to being honoured as the Princess of Wales and who must have confidently expected to be Queen one day, she first learned that her father wished to set her mother aside, that he had learned that the marriage was invalid and that their daughter was therefore illegitimate in the eyes of God.

Given that she was brought up as a princess and as heir to the throne, leading a life of luxury and doted on as her parent's only living child, enjoying every royal privilege that went with the rank she had then enjoyed, it was hardly surprising that Mary was unwilling to see the truth.

What girl would have wanted to believe that she was no longer the Princess of Wales, that the title had never been hers by rights, and that she was just another royal bastard?

Any girl in her position would have sided with the mother who was striving to prevent the annulment and secure her daughter's position rather than with the father who had sought to brand her a bastard. Any girl in her position would have wanted to believe that her mother was right, with truth and justice on her side, and that her father was misguided, misled into believing that there was a fault in his marriage, rather than admit that her parents had lived in sin and that she was illegitimate. Any girl in her position would want to find somebody to blame for her misfortune and to tell herself that, but for Anne, none of it would have happened.

Anne was sincere when she offered to reconcile Mary with her father in exchange for her stepdaughter acknowledging her as Queen and, by extension, Elizabeth as the rightful Princess and, until she had a brother, as the legitimate heir to the throne. Had the girl consented, she would have been only too pleased to welcome her to court, as Henry's daughter rather than as her attendant. There was no shame in being a King's child, after all, legitimate or not – and since Henry had made her Marquess of Pembroke in her own right, there was nothing to keep him from bestowing a similar honour on Mary. He could also arrange a suitable marriage for her, making her husband a peer of the realm if he did not already hold that title.

There was no reason why Mary's position at court should have been an ignoble one, and she certainly would not have asked Henry to humiliate his daughter for her sake.

She would have been willing to do whatever it took to make Mary feel welcome at court and to persuade her stepdaughter that she was her friend, not her foe.

Then Brereton and Chapuys had conspired with Mary to murder her, and while she carried Harry, willing to murder her innocent baby boy to get rid of her. Dr Linacre had stressed over and over how fortunate they were that the poison had not done her or her baby any lasting damage but that was down to their good fortune, not any hesitation on the parts of their would-be murderers.

Looking at Lady Mary now, she would never have thought her capable of even contemplating such a thing. She was sitting on a chair, albeit one that was as far away from Anne's as she could set it, and she was stitching diligently on a warm woollen shirt, looking innocent, as though butter wouldn't have melted in her mouth.

When Anne served as lady-in-waiting to Katherine, she was bored by her tasks, chafing at the constraints of her position and always longing for the moment when Katherine would dismiss her, allowing her to leave to spend time with friends or, though the other woman did not know it at the time, with Henry. It was particularly bad as the woman then called Queen seemed to spend more and more time attending Mass in the chapel, or in her private devotions in her chambers, with each passing week – probably praying that Henry would abandon the idea of annulling their marriage, Anne realized with hindsight – and etiquette demanded that she be attended at all times, which meant that her ladies were obliged to accompany her to Mass or else to sit in silence in her apartment so that they did not disturb her devotions.

Anne would have found service in Katherine's household dull under any circumstances but it was especially irksome when she believed that, within a matter of months at the very most, Wolsey would be able to deliver the annulment Henry commanded him to obtain, allowing them to marry and then _she_ would be Queen, ruling over the court as such while Katherine reverted to her former title of Princess Dowager of Wales.

Of course, she had not counted on Katherine realizing what was happening _before_ the marriage was annulled, much less that she would seek out the help of her nephew, who was willing to place whatever obstacles he could in their path.

When she became Queen at last, and was supplied with a much larger household than she had enjoyed as Lady Anne, or even as the Marquess of Pembroke, there were certain aspects of the way that Katherine had sought to run her household that she was determined never to follow but others that she sought to emulate as, if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that Katherine's household had been well-run, with the woman taking an interest in the welfare of her attendants and known to be a fair mistress, at least for the most part.

She was very conscious of the fact that they eyes of the whole court would be upon her, and that many of those eyes were unfriendly, with their owners whispering about her behind her back, making disparaging remarks about how a woman born a commoner could not possibly manage to fulfil her role with the same grace that her predecessor had and predicting that her household would be a haven of loose morals and decadence, with her ladies allowed a degree of freedom that would have scandalized Katherine, along with every other Queen or great lady who ran her household with a care for the morals of her attendants. She was therefore determined that, while nobody would be able to complain that those in her service were obliged to endure a life of relentless piety and rigid control, they couldn't accuse her of being lax when it came to running her household either, or allege that she tolerated unchaste behaviour among her attendants.

It was different before the marriage and her coronation, when her ladies were friends and companions as well as attendants, but once she became Queen, there was a higher standard that her position obliged her to adhere to.

Every member of her household attended Mass daily, she kept a copy of Tyndale's English Bible on hand so that anybody who wished to read it was free to do so and she and her ladies spent a great deal of time sewing clothes that would be distributed to the poor. Winter was fast approaching, meaning that the garments they were sewing might be the only new, warm clothes that many of the recipients would have to protect them against the coming cold, so this task was one that kept them occupied today, at least until the afternoon. They would sew for the morning, while Nan Saville read aloud from Tyndale's Bible, setting their needles aside in the afternoon, when the children were expected to arrive from Hatfield.

Thinking of her children, Anne allowed her gaze to drift to the Lady Mary. Her stepdaughter stiffened slightly, as though she could sense that she was being watched but she did not look up, keeping her attention directed on the shirt she was sewing.

Should she allow the girl to be present today, when Elizabeth and Harry were brought to her rooms, or should she give orders that Mary was to be excused from her duties whenever the children were present, instructed to keep her distance from them at all times?

When she agreed to take her stepdaughter as a lady-in-waiting, she agreed with Henry that Mary would be treated as her other ladies were, which meant that she should be permitted – no, _required_ – to remain as long as they did, forbidden to absent herself without first obtaining leave to do so but could she trust Mary around her children?

Mary was no fool.

She surely knew that if anything happened to one of the royal children, or to Anne herself, she would be the natural suspect, assumed to have been involved in the plotting even if she did not act against them personally. If anything untoward happened, Henry was likely to automatically assume that his daughter was guilty, after the last time. It would be all but impossible to convince him otherwise and he would not be moved by protestations of innocence or by appeals to his fatherly love.

If Mary valued her life, she would know better than to attempt to make a move against them.

As well as that, as Mary had taken the Oath, she should also be given the opportunity to further prove her loyalty and her sincerity by greeting her young half-siblings with all the deference they were due as prince and princess. She was well aware of the fact that during her time at Hatfield, Mary had steadfastly refused to curtsey to Elizabeth, to address the little girl by her true title of Princess or to accord her any of the royal honours she was due. Lady Bryan had tried her best, Anne did not fault the governess' efforts to convince Mary that it was her duty to obey but, faced with Mary's obstinacy and pride, she had had to admit defeat.

Now, Mary could make amends for her previous refusals showing, once and for all, that she understood that Harry was the rightful heir to the throne and that Elizabeth was the only Princess of England.

She should be allowed to stay for that.

The petticoat Anne was stitching was almost finished when a knock on the door made her look up. The Lady Mary was sitting nearest to the door, so she motioned for her to set aside her work and open it. Mary obeyed the silent command, rising to open the door and admit a guest that Anne had not expected.

"Your Majesty." Cromwell bowed deeply as soon as he crossed the threshold of the chamber, ignoring Mary and the other ladies and keeping his attention focused on Anne.

"Master Cromwell." Anne greeted him in return, acknowledging his bow with a nod. She did not rise but she set her sewing aside, beckoning for him to approach. "What a pleasant surprise."

"May I speak with Your Majesty… privately?" Cromwell added, sensing the avid eyes of Anne's ladies upon him and knowing that all of them were listening intently, eager to hear what the Lord Chancellor had to say to their mistress, especially since they were all aware of the fact that they had not seen eye to eye on various issues in recent years.

Anne was very tempted to inform Cromwell that, whatever it was he wished to say to her, he was to say it before her ladies, as she certainly had nothing to hide, but once she saw the expression on Cromwell's face, seeing how discomfited the man who usually appeared so calm and unruffled, she decided to be merciful, and nodded to indicate that her ladies might excuse themselves for the duration of the interview.

"Sit down, Master Cromwell." She waved a hand towards the seat opposite her. "What is it that you wished to see me about?"

"I wished to offer Your Majesty my warmest congratulations on your shrewdness in devising a solution to the uprisings," Cromwell began. Henry might have been the one to voice the idea, making no reference to its source but Cromwell knew his master well enough to know that this was not an idea that he would have hit upon by himself, just as he knew Anne well enough to know that the proposal was one that she would have come up with. "You may well have saved this country from a full-fledged uprising, one that would have cost many lives."

Anne inclined her head slightly, acknowledging the thanks and knowing that there was certain to be more to Cromwell's visit than this. He was not a man who would seek her out for the sole purpose of praising her work or her schemes, especially when her views on the subject of the religious houses were in direct opposition with his and when she knew as well as he did that he had been dismayed when Henry first began to listen to her and to allow her to determine how the assets of some of the religious houses were to be used. Even if he did want to compliment her, he would not look so troubled when he came to her apartment to speak with her.

"Your Majesty, I…" Cromwell was not accustomed to feeling tongue-tied and he found the sensation to be an unpleasant one, to say the least. "You and I have known one another a long time, Your Majesty." He said, hoping to remind Anne of the fact that, although they might have had their differences in recent years, he had also offered her invaluable help before that, when it came to helping the King secure the annulment that had enabled him to marry her – and but for his shrewdness in managing Cranmer's appointment and helping to keep the marriage a secret long enough for the Bishop of Rome to send the bull confirming Cranmer's appointment as Archbishop of Canterbury, an appointment that gave him the authority to investigate the King's marriage to the Princess Dowager, Princess Elizabeth might well have been born a bastard – and later when he helped to devise laws to protect her status as Queen and secure her children's rights as heirs to the throne. But for him, she might not be Queen now and he hoped that she remembered that and was still thankful for all he had done for her. "It has been my honour to enjoy your patronage, and that of your family, and my privilege to serve you however I may."

"My father once said that our family never did anything better than to facilitate your rise, Master Cromwell." Anne agreed sweetly, wondering how gullible Cromwell believed her to be. Did he think that she wasn't well aware of the fact that, while he had helped her to the marriage bed and to the Queen's crown when it suited his purposes to do so, had Henry ever voiced a desire to be rid of her, he would have been the first to turn on her, devising an excuse for her to be set aside as Katherine once was? Did he think that she didn't know that he had, at one point, negotiated with Chapuys when the Emperor first broached the possibility of friendship with England, friendship that would be contingent on the Lady Mary being restored as legitimate heir, ahead of Elizabeth?

"Yes, Your Majesty," Cromwell nodded, remembering Boleyn's pointed tone as he made his remark while the court watched the play he had commissioned to show the corruption of the Church of Rome. He could remember the slight edge of warning in the complimentary words and the hint that, as somebody who had risen through the Boleyns, he would fall with them if the tide turned against them and they were no longer in a position to help his rise. At the time, he had dismissed the warning, feeling no fear at the prospect of his former patrons losing royal favour, only faint amusement that Thomas Boleyn, whose own position at court had become precarious since his daughter miscarried her second child, should think to threaten him with the possibility of a fall from grace. Now, however, he could feel himself slipping and knew that if he hoped to weather this storm, he would need help. He would need _Anne's_ help. "Your Majesty, I wanted to... I..."

"It's alright, Master Cromwell." Anne said gently, knowing what he wanted to say. "I understand. You are afraid for your position since the uprising."

She knew that she would have been in his shoes, at least if she had been foolish enough to act as he had, ignoring all warnings and proceeding with a plan that was all but guaranteed to anger the people. Henry might have been content to reap the benefits of Cromwell's schemes but he certainly would not be happy to share in the public anger over the closures of the monasteries and, now that the uprising had led to his people shouting against him, he would want to be able to find somebody to blame for what had happened, convincing himself that he had been badly served by his advisors and that, but for that, he would never have consented to their plans.

Cromwell was certain to be among those who paid the price for what had happened, at least if he did not act quickly and find a way to deflect as much of Henry's anger as he possibly could.

Anne could easily understand why he had come to her but what she did not know was what she wanted to do now that Cromwell had sought out her help.

Cromwell was no friend to her, she knew that much.

He had helped her once, she did not deny that, but she would be a fool to count on his loyalty now, or to believe that he would ever serve her interests if it was not also in his interests to do so.

But did that really make him any different than anybody else at court, her own father included?

Once, his help was invaluable to her. He possessed a shrewd mind and a thorough knowledge of the law that enabled him to come up with creative solutions to problems that eluded others, even clever, learned men like Cardinal Wolsey. While Wolsey and even Henry had focused their attention on how they would be able to prevail upon Pope Clement to rule in favour of an annulment when they sought it, Cromwell saw that this was something that would never happen as long as the Emperor had Clement in his power and was determined to do everything in his power to ensure that his aunt would not be cast aside and his cousin would not be a bastard. He recognized that an annulment from Rome was not a possibility and he proved that it was not a necessity.

Cromwell had also been the one to bring her Tyndale's book, _The Obedience of the Christian Man_ , the book she had later given to Henry to read and that had helped him see the corruption of the papacy, the institution he had once defended, and to see that the King was the true Head of the Church.

She could not deny that she was glad that she had had Cromwell on her side during the years before her marriage and she was not insensible to the fact that he had helped to make her Queen and that he had helped their reformation along.

However, it was also undeniable that he could no longer be trusted and that his schemes had caused problems.

Even if she could understand that his priority would be to serve Henry and that his loyalty would be to her husband rather than to her, it certainly did not mean that she could be happy about having somebody who would not only be willing to bring her down but who was also intelligent enough to be able to devise a scheme to do so if there was ever any hint that Henry wished to be rid of her, and that was not even Cromwell's only offence.

Their reformation was never intended to be about personal gain, either for the royal family or for their subjects, but Cromwell had channelled most of the funds generated by the seizure of the property of the religious houses towards the royal treasury – though not without filling his own purse in the process, Anne suspected – and he had dismissed her suggestions that some of the money could be put to better use. He seemed to be incapable of understanding that if they simply took all of the property for their own use, they were no better than the corrupt monks and nuns who had amassed the wealth at the expense of those they were supposed to help.

Now he stood before her, seeking her help, hoping that she would be able to intercede on his behalf before Henry's anger over the consequences of a course of action that he had proposed and championed led to his ruin.

What was she supposed to do?

If she sought the advice of her Uncle Norfolk, he would probably counsel her to refuse to speak on Cromwell's behalf, telling her that, while the man was clever and able to serve her well, she could not trust that he would do so and, since she was now secure as Queen with her children widely accepted as heirs, she no longer required Cromwell's shrewd manoeuvrings to help them and had very little, if anything, to gain from ensuring that the man would be able to keep his place.

She wasn't sure what her father would suggest if she asked him. Would he be eager to see Cromwell ousted from power, knowing that the man was not loyal to the Boleyn cause and perhaps hoping that, with Cromwell dismissed, he might have a chance of filling the vacated place as Lord Chancellor, or would he prefer that they do their best to ensure that Cromwell's skills were not lost, giving the man cause to be grateful to them for offering to speak on his behalf?

With Cromwell, it was unlikely that his gratitude – if that was something that he was capable of in the first place – would last. Anne could not forget that he had once been a member of Wolsey's household. The cardinal had plucked Cromwell, then a simple clerk, from obscurity, offering him first a position among his own secretaries and later securing him a valued and honoured position as Henry's personal secretary but when Wolsey fell, Cromwell had abandoned him, seemingly without a qualm. It would be naive of Anne to expect more loyalty from him than that.

She sat in silence for a couple of minutes, regarding the man in front of her and studying the expression on his face, noting the real fear in his eyes, fear that even a skilled dissembler like Cromwell could not entirely conceal, and then she made her choice.

"You have helped me before, Master Cromwell, in many ways," she observed quietly, "just as you have done a great deal to help with the establishment of the Church of England." Cromwell did not speak but she could tell from the look on his face that he was pleasantly surprised that she began thus, guessing that he had expected that it would take more persuasion from him to coax her into helping him. "I don't forget that."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Cromwell said, not knowing what else to say.

"I think that you and I can both agree that your intentions where the religious houses are concerned were misguided," Anne noted, although she had her doubts over whether Cromwell would truly agree with her statement or whether he still believed that his course of action had been the right one and that the only real problem was that the English people had been unable to see the wisdom of his plans. Either way, he did not argue with her and she did not expect him to, regardless of his personal feelings on the matter. "But I am sure that you only ever had the best interests of the King and myself at heart when you made your proposals."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Cromwell agreed eagerly, feeling relieved that Anne was so cooperative. Once the King had agreed to his wife's suggestion, granting minor concessions to the rebels and declaring that, out of love for his Queen, he would not punish any man who had taken part in the uprising, it was as if the English people had magically forgotten that they had ever felt the slightest anger towards their sovereign. Their anger towards him, however, did not melt away, much as he would have liked it to. Instead, it had increased and he was aware that there were some who were calling for his head, insisting that he should pay with his life for having given his royal master such bad counsel.

Try as he might, he could not shake the fear that the King might hear of those calls and be swayed by them, offering his head up to appease the people and to win their good will once more.

It would be a poor thanks for his years of diligent service but he was clever enough to know that a man should not expect the gratitude of his sovereign to be eternal, a lesson he had learned from Wolsey's fall and even from how quickly the King's ardour towards Anne herself had cooled considerably when she bore a daughter instead of the son he had confidently expected and when she miscarried their next child. He watched both events and he marked them well.

The King's gratitude for a past success would never last past the moment of one's next failure.

"What do you advise?"

"I suggest that you go to the King – not today, after the Prince of Wales and Princess Elizabeth have visited," she added, knowing that Henry was bound to be in a more congenial mood with their children paying them a visit, "and that you ask to be allowed to resign your position as Lord Chancellor." She could see Cromwell stiffen at the suggestion, a barely perceptible frown creasing his brow for a split second and she continued, wanting to make it plain to him that this was the best advice that she could offer him, the best thing that he could do in order to soften Henry's anger. "One of two things will happen; His Majesty will either accept your resignation or he will refuse to do so and insist that you remain in your post." She met his gaze directly. "Then you will know the King's feelings towards you and I am sure that you will know what you should do."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Cromwell agreed reluctantly. Anne's advice was sensible, he could not deny that, though part of him would have liked to believe that there was more that she could have done for him, if she so chose. If he went to the King and offered his resignation, he would be placing the decision entirely in his master's hands, something that would hopefully placate him. The prospect of losing a good servant might also remind the King of his past good service, and make him feel that the last thing he wanted was to allow him to leave like that, helping him to see that, although his plans had not worked out as well as they might have hoped _this_ time, he had provided him with invaluable service for years now. On the other hand, the King might accept his resignation...

Cromwell had never stolen half as much from the King as Wolsey had. He certainly was not foolish enough to flaunt his wealth, as the late cardinal had; he lived quite frugally for a man in his high position, never giving anybody cause to imagine that he had a shilling more at his disposal than his salary as chancellor would give him. He was also exceptionally careful when it came to concealing the funds he diverted to himself, so careful that he did not believe that anybody would be able to discover his thefts unless they were to pore over every figure in the accounts for the past ten years. Nonetheless, he had managed to salt away a tidy sum, one that would keep him in comfort for the rest of his days, even if he could no longer rely on the income from his office. His retirement would be comfortable from a material perspective but the idea of being banished from court, cast aside as though he was no use when he was not yet an old man was a galling one.

There was still so much that he wanted to do, so much that he could do for the King if he was given a chance... but he would never have that chance unless he followed Anne's advice.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." He said at last, when the silence between them stretched for so long that even he began to feel uncomfortable. "Your advice is wise."

"I truly think that this is the best thing for you to do." Anne said gently.

Cromwell nodded in response before speaking, greatly daring. "What of you, Your Majesty?" He asked pointedly, wondering how Anne felt about this, now that her actions were the ones viewed as right while his were viewed as wrong. "If His Majesty the King speaks of this matter to you, what will you suggest that he do?"

The question was completely out of line, one that no man, even the Lord Chancellor, should address to the Queen. Anne would have been perfectly within her rights to banish Cromwell from her chambers with a cold reprimand, forbidding him to come into her presence again unless it was to apologize. Instead, she answered.

"If His Majesty speaks to me about you, Master Cromwell, I will remind him of your past good service towards us, and of the fact that you have been, in most things, a loyal and diligent servant." Anne said honestly. It would have been easy for her to speak ill of Cromwell, knowing that a few harsh words from her could lead to the man being banished from court in disgrace, condemned for one failure, as though his previous successes counted for nothing, but she did not want that. "I cannot predict how he will act."

"No," Cromwell agreed quietly. If Anne was willing to speak well of him, he might have a chance of escaping with his position intact but her good opinion would only carry so much weight. It rested in the King's hands. "Thank you, Your Majesty." He said at last. He bowed deeply and, when Anne nodded in response to his request to be excused, he left her apartment, leaving a sober Queen behind him.

When he decided to go to Anne to seek her assistance, he had hoped for something more but he was honest enough to admit that she was doing all that she could reasonably do for him... just as he was honest enough to admit that, had their positions been reversed, he would not have done nearly as much to help _her_.

* * *

"Mama! Mama! Mama!" Harry had no eyes for anybody except his mother. As soon as the royal children were escorted into Anne's apartments, he tugged his hand out of Lady Bryan's grasp and dashed towards his Mama as fast as his short, plump legs could carry him, not sparing so much as a glance for the ladies who curtsied at his approach. She knelt down to child level and he ran into her arms, hugging her tightly and giving her several smacking kisses, delighted to be in her embrace once more. "I've missed you, Mama, and Lilibet missed you too." He told her solemnly.

"I missed you too, my darling boy." Anne kissed Harry on the top of his head, holding her son in one arm while she extended her other arm towards Elizabeth. At six, Elizabeth would ordinarily have considered herself too old to race about as a little boy of three like Harry could but today she ran towards her mother too, scorning the dignity normally due to her rank as a princess, almost sending the three of them flying when she joined Harry in their mother's embrace.

"I missed you, Mama." She said, more quietly than Harry had, closing her eyes while her mother held her close and kissed the top of her head lightly.

"I'm so sorry that I couldn't be there for your birthday, sweetheart." Anne apologized, feeling a fresh stab of guilt at the thought. For all Henry's assurances that Elizabeth would be delighted to have a second celebration in honour of her birthday, with a second set of gifts and even more lavish festivities than would normally have been held for her, she didn't think that a belated celebration, no matter how elaborate that celebration was, could truly make up for the fact that Elizabeth's parents weren't with her to share her special day.

"I understand, Mama." Elizabeth said, with a gravity that would not have shamed a grown woman. "Kat told me why you and Papa could not come to Hatfield, and why we could not come to court."

"Did she?" Anne asked, glancing back at her daughter's governess, hoping that Kat's explanation had not been too detailed. Elizabeth was only six, after all, and she certainly would not have wanted her to be frightened by stories about the uprising, or for her to worry about whether or not she, Harry and Annie were safe at Hatfield.

"Yes," Elizabeth nodded. "Kat told me that there were bad people who disobeyed Papa and that because of them, you and Papa needed to leave court and go to live at another palace for a while."

"That's right." Anne agreed, relieved to know that Kat had not been more explicit than that. The woman was an excellent governess, one who was doing a fine job of giving Elizabeth her lessons – perhaps a finer job than many tutors would have managed – and Anne was pleased to know that she was devoted to Elizabeth, whom she could not care more for if she was her own child, but she had still feared that Elizabeth's intelligence might have led Kat to forget that she was just a little girl, one who would be frightened if she believed her parents to be in danger. "But it's over now."

"They were very wicked to disobey Papa." Harry said, a fierce scowl furrowing his brow. "People should listen to the King and do as they're told."

"Yes." Elizabeth seconded her brother with a resolute nod.

"It's a little more complicated than that, my darlings," Anne tried to explain, knowing that she could not say anything that would suggest that she believed that the rebels were right to stage their uprising but also not wanting them to believe that wickedness was the only reason why anybody would rebel against a sovereign. One day, Harry would be King and she wanted him to know how important it was for him to listen to his subjects. A King who refused to do so could find himself branded a tyrant and that was certainly not how she wanted her beloved son to be remembered. "The people who disobeyed your Papa thought that they were right to do so, and Papa understood that they didn't mean to be wicked, so he didn't punish them for it."

"Oh." Harry said doubtfully. Had it been anybody but his Mama who said it, he would have thought that they were fibbing; it was naughty to disobey the King so he couldn't understand why anybody could ever think that it could be a good thing for them to do it but Mama was very clever and very good so if she said it, it must be true.

"You'll understand when you are older." Anne promised, kissing him once more before gently shifting him from her embrace and standing, holding out a hand for Elizabeth. "Now, if you'll excuse us for a minute, I want to show your sister one of her birthday presents."

"'Course." Harry nodded willingly, watching his mother and sister disappear into the bedchamber before he began to look around him.

His Mama's rooms were his favourite place to visit. Hatfield was very grand of course – it had to be, since the Prince of Wales lived there – but his Mama's rooms at court were even grander, and much prettier. Harry liked to look at the fine silk hangings, and at the shining ornaments on the table. Mama was never cross with him if he wanted to touch them, or even to pick them up. She never fussed at him to be careful, like Lady Bryan did, and even if he dropped something, she would never scold him.

He liked his Mama's ladies too, especially Aunt Mary, Annie's mother, and Mistress Saville, who liked to sneak him treats and who would tell him the story about how pleased everybody was when he was born.

There were new ladies here today, he noticed, ladies who were not here the last time he and Lilibet came to visit. One of them was a pretty girl dressed in a pink gown. She curtsied when he went over to say 'hello' to her and told him that he was a very sweet little boy. He decided that he liked her, and he liked her even more when Aunt Mary told him that she was his cousin Kitty Howard. He liked to meet his cousins and there were lots and lots of Howards.

The other new lady stood a bit apart from the others, almost in the shadows – if he had not been looking around at the ladies, he might not have even seen that she was there. She was not whispering with them about how nice it was to see that the Prince was growing to be such a big boy, the way lots of the other ladies were. Her gown wasn't as nice as theirs either; she wore a black gown and he thought that she would look nicer in a different colour. Black was alright for Lady Bryan, since she was old, and Harry's Mama always looked beautiful, no matter what she wore, but this lady looked sad in black.

He advanced towards her, not even hearing Lady Bryan's hissed suggestion that he should wait for his Mama and Lilibet to come back.

"Hello." He said as soon as he came to stand in front of her. She curtsied, the way all his Mama's ladies had to curtsey to the Prince, but she didn't do it straight away, she paused for just a little moment before she curtsied. "I'm Harry, the Prince of Wales." He introduced himself cheerfully. "Who are you?"

It was on the tip of Mary's tongue to retort that she was the Princess of Wales but she couldn't say it. Not only was that guaranteed to earn her nothing more than a return trip to the More or, worse still, a cell in the Tower, she didn't want to upset a little boy. He was only three years old after all, and should not be blamed for his parents' actions. She had heard that Harry was the image of his father but she had not believed that the likeness could be as pronounced as was claimed – a part of her would even have liked to believe that he was not truly her father's son and that Anne had conceived him in secret, with a lover – but now that she was face to face with the little boy, she could see that they had not exaggerated. Harry was her father in miniature, and the smile on his dimpled face made it impossible for her to feel any anger or resentment towards him.

"My name is..." She got no further than that.

Elizabeth, leaving Anne's bedchamber with the pearl and diamond pendant that was to be one of her birthday gifts, stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Mary, her eyes widening in alarm. The pendant slipped from her fingers and she ran over to her brother, pushing him behind her as she glared up at their half-sister.

"You stay away from my brother!" She ordered furiously, reaching behind her to grasp Harry's hand in hers.

"What's wrong, Lilibet?" Harry asked, puzzled by his sister's reaction.

"That's the Lady Mary – the one who tried to hurt Mama." Elizabeth declared, keeping herself positioned between them. If Mary thought that she was going to be able to hurt Harry again, Elizabeth would soon show her that she would never be allowed to do it. She wouldn't let her.

Anne was behind her children a moment later, placing gentle hands on Elizabeth's shoulders as she tried to guide her away. "It's alright, sweetheart," she began, trying to diffuse the situation and to banish her own feeling of panic at seeing Mary so close to her children. She tuned out Lady Bryan's apologies and her explanation that no message had been sent to Hatfield to let them know that they could expect to see the Lady Mary at court, or she would have explained to the children before they set out, and concentrated on calming her angry daughter. "Your Papa and I decided that it was alright for Lady Mary to be allowed back to court, and that she could be one of my ladies." She explained, casting a worried glance in Mary's direction and seeing that she was upset by her young half-sister's reaction to her presence.

From behind his mother and sister, Harry scowled at the Lady Mary. Of all the things that a person could do, hurting his Mama was the very worst thing of all, even worse than disobeying Papa.

"I don't like you." He announced in a cold voice, glaring at her.

"Harry!" Anne reproved him, moving one hand from Elizabeth's shoulder to take her son by the hand. She looked up at Mary next. "You may be excused for the present, Lady Mary." She said firmly, knowing that she would not be able to calm her children as long as their half-sister was present.

For her part, Mary seemed to be glad to be able to slip away.

"What's she doing here?" Elizabeth demanded angrily. Papa had _promised_ that he had sent Lady Mary far away and that he would never let her come back to hurt Mama or any of them ever again. Why was she here now? Why would she be allowed to be one of Mama's ladies when she was so wicked before, when she was part of Elizabeth's household? It didn't make any sense!

Anne waved a hand, indicating that her attendants and her children's should give them some privacy. She led her children to a low couch by the window, sitting down with Elizabeth next to her, while Harry scrambled into her lap and cuddled close, playing with her hair.

"Somebody should have told you before you came here, then you wouldn't have had a shock." Anne began; they hadn't really given much thought to how the children would react to Mary. Harry had never met her, after all, and Elizabeth wasn't even three years old when her half-sister was banished from Hatfield, young enough to have forgotten all about her by now. She hadn't expected that Elizabeth would remember Henry telling her about how Mary had tried to hurt her and Harry but she had clearly taken his words to heart and it was understandable that she had reacted so strongly to seeing Mary today. "The Lady Mary wrote to your Papa a short time ago, and told him that she was very sorry that she disobeyed him before. She told him that she knows that I am the Queen and that you two are the prince and princess."

Harry wanted to ask why the Lady Mary, or anybody else, would ever doubt that this was the case but before he could, his Mama continued.

"We decided that she should be allowed to come back to court." Anne explained, trying to keep things as simple as possible. Naturally, nobody at Hatfield would ever dream of mentioning the Oath of Succession, or Katherine or the fact that Mary was once thought to be a legitimate princess around Elizabeth or Harry.

"But what if she tries to hurt you again?" Elizabeth asked, worried. If the Lady Mary had tried before, when she was living far away at Hatfield, then she might try again now that she was living so close to Mama, as one of her ladies.

"She won't." Anne assured her. "We're going to make sure that she doesn't have a chance, and even if she had the chance, I don't think that she'd want to try. It's important that we give her a chance, all of us. She won't do anything to hurt us." She injected as much confidence into her voice as she possibly could as she spoke, forcing herself to smile as though she believed herself to be completely and utterly safe from any threat of harm.

She might have had her doubts about Mary but her children needed to believe that they were safe.

* * *

As glad as Mary was when she was first told that she was to have her own chamber instead of sharing with other ladies, her relief at this concession had increased at least tenfold now.

Had she had to go back to a large chamber shared with a few others, allowed no privacy, she would have found it unbearable. At least she had a room of her own to go to when she needed space to grieve for yet another sorrow in her life.

At Hatfield, Elizabeth was the only person whose company Mary actually enjoyed.

She was only a toddler then, too young to understand why Lady Bryan and the others treated Mary as shabbily as they did. She wasn't one of those who constantly strove to downgrade Mary and to show, by the way they treated her, how low she had fallen. Elizabeth might have been unknowingly usurping the title that was Mary's by rights but that was Anne's fault, not her child's. Elizabeth was sweet and innocent, incapable of malice.

She didn't view Mary as her rival or as the woman who would, with God's help, one day be restored to the titles and position that Elizabeth currently held, she saw her as a companion, somebody to sing to her and play with her and pick her up when she took a tumble.

Now, thanks to Anne, Elizabeth viewed Mary as wicked, somebody who tried to harm her mother and brother and she was furious with her for that. Even little Harry, who had never laid eyes on Mary before today and who seemed like such a sweet child in other respects, looked at her as though he saw a monster.

When Joan entered the chamber, laden with a pile of clean linen, she saw at a glance that her mistress was troubled.

"What's the matter, my lady?" She asked in a concerned tone, setting the linen down so that she could look Mary in the eye. "Has something happened?"

"They hate me." Mary responded quietly, feeling pained at the thought. "They hate me."


	29. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**_8th October 1539_ **

Henry had hurried through his morning's work, hoping to be able to finish in time to be able to go to Anne's apartment in time to be there to greet Elizabeth and Harry when they arrived but he was delayed and, when he reached the room, he caught a glimpse of Mary's retreating back as she hurried in the direction of her own chamber, running as though she was being pursued by demons.

He was angry at first, thinking that she had left without permission, and he was ready to call Mary back and to reprimand her sharply for daring to take it upon herself to leave Anne's apartment and her duties there but she was gone before he could say anything and he forbore to follow her, thinking that if a reprimand was called for, it could wait until after he had greeted his _legitimate_ children. They came first, always. When he opened the door, he could hear the sounds of two childish voices, high-pitched with anger and excitement, and Anne's soothing tones as she tried to calm them down, reassuring them that everything was alright.

The children's attendants, together with Anne's ladies, held back, curtseying when they saw Henry but looking ill at ease and not saying a word.

"What's going on here?" He asked, raising his voice so that he could be heard above the din. He smiled, trying to lighten the atmosphere in the room a little. "Does Papa not get a 'hello' anymore?" He chided the children teasingly but his attempt at levity failed miserably.

Harry ignored him entirely, wrapping his arms around Anne's neck and clinging tightly to her, while Elizabeth approached him, looking up at him with a black scowl.

"You promised that you wouldn't let her come back, Papa, you promised!" Elizabeth complained, quivering slightly with anger. "You promised that you wouldn't ever let her hurt us again."

"Who, sweetheart?" Henry asked, although he already knew the answer, knowing that there was only one person who was likely to bring such a look to Elizabeth's face. "The Lady Mary?" Elizabeth nodded confirmation and Henry's face became as grim as his daughter's as he looked to Anne for answers. "What happened? Did Mary do something to upset them?" He asked urgently, inwardly resolving that if Mary had dared to upset or offend either of the children, he would march her to the Tower himself and never order her release.

"No," Anne shook her head decisively, not wanting Henry to get the wrong idea and to blame Mary for something that was not her fault. She rubbed Harry's back soothingly as she spoke, half her attention focused on calming her son and the other half on explaining to Henry what had happened. "Lady Bryan did not know that the Lady Mary was permitted to return to court, or to join my household." She explained. "Elizabeth and Harry weren't told that she would be here when they arrived, and Elizabeth recognized her." She didn't need to elaborate any further. She could tell from the expression on Henry's face that he was also remembering the conversation he had had with Elizabeth on the day of Harry's christening, explaining to her that Mary was banished from Hatfield because of her involvement in an attempt to hurt Anne and Harry, and promising that Mary would not be allowed to come near them again.

"I see." Henry said quietly, crouching down to Elizabeth's level and taking both her hands in his. "I should have made sure that you knew that Lady Mary was going to be here before you arrived, sweetheart – especially when you're coming to celebrate your birthday," he added, remembering that this was supposed to have been a happy day for Elizabeth, the finest birthday celebration they had ever had in her honour, even if it was a little late, and hoping that this would not spoil his child's pleasure in the day. Her real birthday was already marred when they weren't able to be with her for it. "I'm sorry about that, but you don't need to worry about the Lady Mary doing anything wicked. She has given her word that she will not, and sworn that she understands that you and Harry are the princess and the prince while she is illegitimate. We're going to make sure that she's watched, so she won't have a chance to try to hurt anybody."

If Henry realized that the fact that he was ensuring that Mary was closely watched at all times was tantamount to an admission that he still had some doubts about the sincerity of her capitulation and about whether or not she could be fully trusted, he didn't seem to realize it. Elizabeth considered his response carefully, studying his face with intelligent blue eyes.

"Do you really think that it's safe to have the Lady Mary at court, Papa?" She asked quietly.

"I do." Henry said, infusing his voice with all the confidence that he could muster.

"But why do you want her here?" Elizabeth asked, puzzled over this. "You told me that she's not a princess, like me, just a Lady." Although she would not have admitted it, to herself or to anybody else, part of Elizabeth was put out by the thought of her father inviting his other daughter to court, especially when Mary was not her mama's daughter too. Elizabeth was her papa's princess, his beautiful jewel of England, and she did not like the idea of her place being usurped, least of all by Mary, after what she had done.

"She's not, sweetheart." Henry assured her, reaching out to grasp Elizabeth around the waist and lift her up, so that her face was level with his. "Lady Mary is illegitimate, and no princess, even she has admitted this, but she is still a King's daughter – my daughter – and if she can behave herself, her place is here at court, with us."

"Not at Hatfield like last time?" Elizabeth tested him. She might have been only six years old but she was far shrewder than anybody would think somebody her age could be. Her Papa might not be willing to come out and say it but he must still have some worries about Lady Mary if he wasn't going to send her back to her old place as a maid-in-waiting at Hatfield. He mustn't think that it was safe to allow Lady Mary to live in the same household as she and Harry did, in case she tried to do something wicked to them... and if that was the case, how could he be so sure that Mama was safe if Mary was allowed to be one of her ladies?

"No." Henry confirmed. Even if Anne was not entirely opposed to the idea, refusing to even consider the suggestion, he would not be prepared to send Mary back to her place at Hatfield. Over the past few years, there had been more than a few times when he told himself that he must have been mad to consider the idea of allowing Mary to live so close to his precious Elizabeth, in a position where she would be able to interact with her on a daily basis and where she might find herself left alone to tend to the baby for short periods when he had known that the girl believed that her innocent little half-sister was usurping the titles and honours she stubbornly insisted were her rightful due, and that it was far from unlikely that she would resent Elizabeth for it, hating the baby who was the true Princess of England and perhaps even blaming her for the fact that she had been exposed as the bastard she was and sent to Hatfield to learn her place.

They were so lucky that she had not struck against Elizabeth when she had Brereton poised to murder Anne and Harry!

If Mary had harmed the child in any way, Henry would have strangled her with his own hands.

"What if she does something bad?" Harry asked. His face was buried in Anne's shoulder so his voice was slightly muffled.

"If Mary even _thinks_ about doing something bad, I'll deal with her." Henry promised his son, before shifting his daughter into a more comfortable position in his arms and changing the subject to a more cheerful one. "In any case, we shouldn't be talking about Mary today, should we? Today is Elizabeth's special day. We should be thinking about how we're going to celebrate, shouldn't we?" He asked rhetorically, smiling when he saw Harry beam at him, nodding his head enthusiastically. The little boy was plainly delighted by the thought of a celebration and Mary was all but forgotten now that there was the prospect of a party. He looked at Elizabeth, hoping to see a smile from her but the expression on her small face was serious. "What do you think, sweetheart?" He prompted her gently.

After a few moments' pause, Elizabeth finally nodded, giving him a small smile. "I'd like that Papa." She said, knowing that it would please him. However, she had no intention of forgetting about Mary.

If Mary tried to do anything wicked, Elizabeth would make sure that she was punished for it, even if she was Papa's daughter.

* * *

When her step-grandmother was outfitting her for court, the old woman had spent a great deal of time grumbling about the expense this represented, acidly commenting on the high prices paid for the material that was used for her new gowns but Kitty had paid little attention to her.

For one thing, she knew that, for all the Dowager Duchess' grumbling, she was not the one who was paying the bills for her new finery; her Uncle Norfolk was the one who provided the necessary funds so that she might be outfitted in a manner befitting a Howard girl, and the Queen's cousin and while, for all his wealth, he might resent having to foot the bills for her new finery, he would never dream of shaming the Howard family by sending her to court ill-provided for. In any case, regardless of who was paying for her new wardrobe, she was too excited over the prospect of being allowed to go to court and to be supplied with gowns far finer than anything she had possessed before to care too much about the cost or about her step-grandmother's grumblings.

Now that she was at court, in her cousin's household, she never wanted to leave.

It was not that there was no fun to be had in the Dowager Duchess' household – although Kitty suspected that the old lady would swoon, or worse, if she had any idea what the young women placed in her charge as maids-in-waiting got up to when her back was turned – but it was very rare that there were guests, and revels were even more infrequent. At court, it would be a different matter; important occasions for the royal family were celebrated, as were special holidays and Lady Shelton had told her that there were often lavish celebrations in honour of visiting ambassadors. Today's festivities might only be in honour of the birthday of a six year old girl but they were already looking to be lively. A masquerade ball was planned for tomorrow and two gentlemen had already asked if they might dance with her. Hopefully, there would be others.

Although her gowns were of rich material and fashionably cut, Kitty had not been supplied with many of them but, even so, the choice of which gown to wear proved to be a difficult one. At first she wanted to wear the green one, thinking that it would look best with her colouring and that it would be a pretty compliment to the King and Queen if she wore one of the Tudor colours but, once she had wriggled into the gown and glanced at her reflection in the mirror, she thought that she should wear the pink one she had worn for the morning instead.

Dereham once told her that she looked like a rose when she wore pink.

The other two young ladies who shared the large chamber with her were dressed long before she was ready, their hair combed and arranged under their hoods and they were impatient to get down to the great Hall in time for the banquet in Princess Elizabeth's honour, so much so that they became impatient with Kitty's indecisiveness regarding her attire and decided to go on without her, leaving the maid assigned to the three of them to provide her with any assistance that was necessary to ready herself.

Once she was laced into her pink gown again, Kitty fidgeted while the maid arranged her hood, anxious to be downstairs. She certainly did not want to be late; not only might it displease the Queen if she did not arrive in good time, it might also mean that she would find that there was no space for her at the tables closest to the dais, where the royal family would be seated, and she certainly did not want to be relegated to a seat at one of the tables at the far end of the Hall, closest to the common people who were to be allowed to enter to watch the royal family and their courtiers eating their meal, while helping themselves to the food set out for them on the trestle tables.

With her gown laced and brushed and her headdress straight, she was ready and might have run straight down to the Hall, had she not remembered the Lady Mary.

Anne had singled her out before she went down to the Hall herself, quietly asking her to let the Lady Mary know that, if she wished to attend the banquet and the other celebrations, she was more than welcome to do so. Kitty certainly didn't want to forget her errand; if she proved to be careless and forgetful now, when she was starting out as a lady-in-waiting, how could she expect the Queen to ever entrust her with a message of any kind in the future?

She would feel mortified if her cousin decided that she was too flighty to be trusted.

She did not know the way to the Lady Mary's chamber but she was able to find a page, a youth who blushed bright red when she addressed him and who stammered out directions to the room before remembering his manners and offering to escort her there, an offer that Kitty eagerly accepted, smiling her thanks.

When she knocked on the door, a maid opened it for her. Kitty felt a surge of envy towards Lady Mary, who might only be a lady-in-waiting, just as she was, but who was allowed a fine chamber of her own, one that she did not have to share with anybody, along with her own maid, by virtue of her status as the King's daughter. The maid bobbed a curtsey at the sight of Kitty's gown, knowing that she must be a highborn lady from the quality of the cloth. She looked at her expectantly, unable to ask a lady of the court her name or to address her until she was spoken to first but, at the same time, unwilling to allow anybody to enter her mistress' chamber until she knew who they were and why they had come to see her.

"My name is Kitty… I mean Mistress Catherine Howard." Kitty introduced herself, feeling flustered. "I am one of Her Majesty's ladies-in-waiting and I have a message for the Lady Mary."

"I see." The maid's expression was grim and, for a moment, Kitty wondered whether the other girl would want to shut the door in her face, if she had dared to do so, refusing to allow her entry. However, it would be unthinkable for any mere maidservant, even one who attended the King's daughter, to treat one of the ladies of the Queen's household so rudely, so she stepped aside to allow Kitty to enter the room, shutting the door behind her before announcing her to the young woman who stood by the fireplace, staring at the logs burning in the grate. "Mistress Howard has come to see you, my lady." She said, making a deep curtsey.

"Mistress Howard." Mary's voice was cool.

Kitty instinctively curtsied, feeling more overawed by Mary's manner than she did by her royal blood but she quickly pulled herself up, feeling her cheeks grow warm. She wasn't sure whether she was expected to curtsey or whether that was something that she should not do; nobody had explained to her what degree of deference was supposed to be accorded to the King's illegitimate daughter and, as she had not thought to pay any attention to how the other ladies behaved towards Mary, she wasn't sure whether she would be better off assuming that she was to honour the Lady Mary for her royal blood until she was told otherwise, or whether she ought to assume that there was no need for her to extend the same courtesies to Mary – who was, after all, just another lady-in-waiting, just like Kitty herself – as she would to the Princess Elizabeth unless the Queen made it known that she expected them to defer to her stepdaughter.

She certainly didn't want Anne to think that she was siding with Lady Mary rather than with her.

She could remember hearing her step-grandmother speaking of the way that it had taken some people – people the Dowager Duchess usually condemned as 'obstinate', 'ignorant' or just plain 'stupid' – a long time to accept the truth and that, years ago, when the King and Queen married and when Princess Elizabeth was born, they had called Lady Mary the true princess, refusing to admit that she was a bastard.

The Dowager Duchess used to threaten her household, telling them that if any of them dared to refer to the Lady Mary as Princess or, worse still, to slander her adored Anne by denying her title as Queen, she would see to it that their tongues were slit for it.

Kitty believed that the old lady would have been more than willing to carry out her threat.

"Her Majesty the Queen asked me to bring you a message, Lady Mary." She told the other girl, trying to sound solemn.

"Has she?" If Mary felt any apprehension about this, she did not allow any hint of her feelings to show on her face. "Then you'd better tell me what it is."

"The Queen asked me to tell you that if you want to come down to the Hall for the celebrations, you are welcome to." Kitty told her, giving her a smile and thinking that her cousin was very kind to remember her stepdaughter like that. When the royal children were so upset to see their half-sister, it was right for Anne to tell Mary to leave for the moment, until Princess Elizabeth and the little Prince of Wales were calmer, but it was good of her to make sure that Mary knew that she was allowed to attend the celebrations, in case she thought that when Anne sent her away, she meant for her to stay away for the rest of the day, not even allowed to attend the banquet.

"I see." Mary said quietly, wondering if Anne had intended to command her attendance or if the invitation was only made as a courtesy, with Anne and her father expecting that she would decline, to avoid upsetting Elizabeth and Harry any further. Under normal circumstances, one did not refuse the invitation of a King or a Queen but these were not normal circumstances. Would her father and Anne be offended by her refusal or would they be angry if she accepted?

She wished that somebody else had been chosen to deliver the message; Kitty was good-natured and well-meaning but even after such a short acquaintance, Mary knew that the younger girl could never be called one of the most intelligent people at court. If Anne charged her with delivering a message, she would accept that message at face value, never thinking to suspect that Anne might not mean what she had said and she would deliver the message faithfully, whereas another lady, one who knew Anne better, might suspect that her mistress would prefer that she didn't deliver it.

In any case, whether Anne's invitation was sincere or not, Mary had no intention of accepting it.

She wasn't going to go down to the Great Hall, taking a seat at one of the lower tables, a place that would signal to all of the court, along with the common people who would be permitted to watch the festivities in Elizabeth's honour, that her status is her father's court was a low one – or, worse still, she might find herself summoned up to the dais where her father, her half-siblings and Anne would be dining but not so that she might sit with them.

She was realistic enough to know that she would inevitably be called upon to serve Anne when she dined in state as Queen, before the court and in view of the common people; all of the ladies of Anne's household took turns standing behind her at mealtimes, ready to serve her if she required anything and counting it an honour to be the one selected for the task. Mary knew that, sooner or later, she would be called upon to fulfil that task, obliged to publicly act as Anne's servant, ready to hand her a napkin or to refill her goblet or to perform any minor chores asked of her, just as her own maids in waiting once stood behind her at Ludlow Castle.

But today did not have to be the day.

Later, perhaps the idea of serving Anne, with the eyes of the whole court upon her, would be more bearable, even if only slightly, but today, her stomach churned at the thought.

"The Queen is kind to invite me," she said steadily, managing to hide the distress that referring to Anne as 'Queen' caused her. "But I will not be able to attend – I am feeling ill." She said firmly, before Kitty could object to the idea of her refusing Anne's invitation. "I have a headache."

"Oh." Kitty said doubtfully, scrutinizing Mary's face. It was true that she looked rather pale – but then, the sombre black gown she wore would make almost any woman look pale, even if she was in perfect health. Part of her longed to be able to speak to Lady Mary about clothes, recommending colours that would be particularly becoming for her but she didn't dare to say such a thing to the King's daughter, not when she barely knew her… just as she knew that she could never dare to call the King's daughter a liar or imply it by pressing her too much on the subject of her illness. "I will tell the Queen. Do you need me to fetch a physician?" She could have bitten her tongue as soon as she made the offer; she wasn't confident that she could find her way back to the Queen's apartment or to the Hall from here, so how was she supposed to locate a physician if the Lady Mary said that she wanted her to bring one?

Fortunately for her, Mary shook her head, declining the offer. "That won't be necessary, Mistress Howard, thank you. I often have these turns." This was true enough; since her adolescence… since she learned that her father intended to set her mother aside and name her a bastard, Mary's health had suffered and her years in exile at the More had not helped her constitution grow more robust. She might not have a headache now, but she could be reasonably certain that she would have one in the near future and part of her wanted to know how Anne planned to deal with them when they happened. Would she be prepared to allow Mary to absent herself from her tasks as lady-in-waiting or would she insist that she report for duty, as normal, regardless of how she was feeling? "I will rest and, in a day or two, I will be well again."

Kitty nodded comprehension. Not knowing what else to say, she excused herself, backing hastily out of the room.

Once outside the Lady Mary's chamber, however, she couldn't remember which corridor she had reached the room by, and she did not know which one would lead her to the Great Hall.

There was no page around, no servant that she could ask for directions from, and she didn't dare knock on the Lady Mary's door to find out where she ought to go.

"Lost again, sister?" A good-natured voice asked. "I might have guessed."

"Charles!" Kitty wrapped her arms around her brother in an impulsive hug. They had arrived at court together, she to serve the Queen and he to serve their uncle, but they knew that they were unlikely to see much of one another at court, as they would be absorbed with their respective duties. However, at least they were living under the same roof now, something they had not done since they were children, before their step-grandmother singled Catherine out as the girl to whom she would give a home at Lambeth, deeming her to be the prettiest of Lord Edmund Howard's daughters, even at her young age, and therefore the one most likely to benefit from the opportunities that would be afforded to her if she was placed in a great noble house.

"Uncle Norfolk sent me to fetch you," Charles explained with a wry grin. "The Queen told him that she had sent you on an errand to the Lady Mary, and when you did not come down to the Hall, he thought that you must be lost and sent me to fetch you. It looks like he was right."

Kitty pulled a face in response to his teasing but she did not argue. As one of the youngest members of a family of ten children, she was accustomed to being teased from her earliest years and knew better than to take offence over the good-natured ribbing of her elder brother. Instead, she slipped her arm through his, allowing him to lead her through the corridors to the stairs leading down to the Great Hall, chattering rapidly about how she had fared in the Queen's service so far, enthusiastically describing Anne as the kindest, loveliest and most gracious Queen imaginable, a lady she was delighted to be able to serve.

Much to her relief, she saw that quite a few of the places set at the tables were unoccupied. At least, if she was arriving late, she was not the last person to arrive – and, in any case, she had an excuse for her tardiness, something she suspected would not be true of some of those who were also late. Whispering to her brother to keep a place for her at his table, she approached the dais where the royal family were seated, curtseying deeply and waiting until Anne beckoned to her before she approached.

"The Lady Mary told me that she will not be able to attend – she asked me to apologize for her," she added hastily, seeing that the King could hear what she was saying and that his expression darkened at her words. She knew that she should not lie to Anne, under any circumstances, but she also did not want to see the Lady Mary get into trouble and thought that there was very little harm in her telling a white lie, even if Lady Mary had expressed no remorse for her inability to attend the festivities. Perhaps she would have if she thought of it and had just forgotten about it. "She said that she is feeling unwell."

"Does she need to see a physician?" Anne asked. Even if she was reasonably certain that Mary was suffering less from a physical ailment than from distress at both her position as lady-in-waiting and at the way the children had reacted to her, she could not forget that her stepdaughter was also known not to enjoy especially good health, or that Mary suffered from various chronic ailments. Now that Mary was one of her ladies, Anne bore some responsibility for her welfare and if she was truly ill, she had a duty to ensure that she was properly cared for, just as she would if it was one of her other ladies who was unwell.

"No, Your Majesty." Kitty responded. "She said that she just needed to rest and she'll be well again soon."

"Alright. Thank you, Kitty." Anne smiled at her young cousin, nodding to indicate that she might take a seat at one of the tables. "Enjoy the banquet."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Kitty nodded, curtseying a second time and withdrawing.

Henry's scowl was black. "She's pretending." He stated flatly, frowning. Mary might not enjoy the same vitality that Elizabeth and Harry did but Henry was sure that nobody could possibly be as ill as Mary claimed to be, or as often, without looking much frailer than his daughter did.

Illness was a convenient excuse, one that allowed her to escape tasks that she found unpleasant and to avoid things that she did not wish to do… even to try to manipulate him.

He could well remember the occasions when Chapuys came to him on his so-called missions of mercy, bringing him tidings of Mary's ill-health, sometimes daring to hint that her place in Elizabeth's household was having a detrimental effect on her spirits and her health, or even that her illnesses might be the result of an attempt made to poison her, with the unspoken implication that such an attempt was one that would have been made on Anne's orders, in the hopes that he could play on Henry's natural love and concern for his daughter and prompt him to allow her to leave Hatfield and her duties as one of Elizabeth's household, if he was made to fear that her health and even her life could be in jeopardy if he did not.

It would have suited Chapuys very well if Mary could be removed from Hatfield and sent to live in another of the royal residences, as he would be pleased to see Mary prevail where the issue of her service at Hatfield was concerned. As well as that, if Mary was to reside in a household of her own, she would have to have servants to tend to her needs and she would inevitably emulate Katherine. Lady Bryan was a sensible woman, one who knew better than to pay any attention to Mary's peevish insistence that she was the Princess of Wales and the rightful heir to the throne, save to rebuke her for her disobedience and obstinacy when she persisted in doing so, despite being made aware of her true status, but if Mary had a household of her own, it would be different.

She was her mother's daughter in many ways and, just as Katherine refused to accept the service of the servants Henry supplied to her because those servants addressed her by her proper title of Princess Dowager, forcing them to choose between disobeying the orders of their King by addressing her as Queen or leaving a royal lady unattended, Mary would be more than capable of insisting that she was addressed as Princess, blackmailing her household by refusing to eat food prepared for her by cooks who referred to her as Lady, or served to her by attendants who knew that she was a bastard.

Henry loved his daughter and it was not easy for him to know that his daughter was unhappy but he knew that he could not risk Elizabeth's position by giving Mary the opportunity to set herself up as a rival princess, laying claim to Elizabeth's rights as his legitimate heiress.

He _had_ given in once, ordering that Mary should be removed to one of his manors for her comfort while she recuperated from one of her illnesses. He was alarmed by the physician's report and allowed Mary to be excused from her duties temporarily, little realizing that his daughter would repay his kindness and his fatherly concern for her welfare by trying to have her stepmother poisoned, but he knew that this would not have been what Chapuys hoped for when he made his appeals on Mary's behalf. He would have been glad to see Mary leave Hatfield but his definite preference was that she should leave to join her mother.

Chapuys persisted in troubling him with letters from Katherine, beseeching that she might be allowed to have Mary with her so that she could care for her while she was unwell, pretending that it was no more than the natural desire of a mother to nurse her ailing child – if Mary had _truly_ been ill and not merely feigning it in order to escape Hatfield – as though he believed Henry to be so stupid that he did not realize that as soon as his former wife and his illegitimate daughter were allowed to be in the same household, they would conspire against him, seeking to either rally his own subjects against him or else to escape to Spain and to the Emperor, who would proclaim them Queen and Princess from the safety of his own dominion.

It hurt Henry to have to refuse these requests, knowing that there was some truth to the words of Katherine's letter, when she said that her presence would be a comfort to their daughter in itself, more of an aid to her recovery than the services of a physician could be, but he had had no alternative. He was aware of the risks that he would be taking if he allowed the two women to be together and he could not shut his eyes to those risks, even if part of him wanted to be able to grant Katherine's request for Mary's sake. He was worried about Mary's health, as any father would worry about a sick child, but he could not take the risk that together they would become a focal point for opposition and, until they yielded and accepted that his marriage to Katherine was invalid and showed themselves willing to acknowledge Anne as Queen, he could not allow them to meet, much less to reside in the same household.

Back then, Mary's illnesses had been part of a conspiracy to allow her mother and the Imperial ambassador to set her up as a pretender against her own father. Now, she was using them to ensure that she would not need to appear in public in her new role.

It was intolerable!

"Maybe she is," Anne agreed quietly, pitching her voice low so that only he could hear their words. "But maybe it's for the best if Mary isn't here today – we don't want to spoil Elizabeth's day." She nodded in the direction of the little girl, who was watching, entranced, as Henry's Fool turned somersaults, pretending to be clumsy and to fall, in order to entertain her.

Elizabeth was happy and distracted at the moment and Anne didn't want her to be upset again.

Henry nodded, knowing that she had a point. He caught her hand in his, lifting it so that he might kiss the tips of her fingers. "You're right, sweetheart – as always. It is Elizabeth's day."

Elizabeth looked up at the mention of her name, smiling at him, and Henry's anger towards Mary melted away. His elder daughter forgotten, he released Anne's hand, bending down to lift his younger daughter from her chair and scoop her up in his arms, holding her high so that everybody in the Hall could see his beautiful little girl, his jewel of England, and admire her.

Balancing Elizabeth in one arm, he picked up a gold goblet with his free hand, raising it high, an example that the rest of the court followed. "To Elizabeth!" He bellowed the toast, wanting to make sure that all present could hear his words. "A long, happy and prosperous life to the Princess of England!"

A ripple of applause broke out and Henry rejoiced to hear it, just as he rejoiced to hear the enthusiastic voices seconding his toast and to know that every man and woman present joined him in his good wishes for Princess Elizabeth… the _only_ Princess of England.

* * *

**_12th October 1539_ **

His father's funeral was a relatively simple affair, as he had wished, with only close family and friends in attendance, and without a lavish tomb supplied but even so, Edward Seymour couldn't help but feel dismayed by the costs associated with providing him with a burial worthy of a knight of the realm, one of the many costs encumbering his inheritance.

For many families, the fact that Sir John Seymour was the father of two sons and three daughters who had survived to adulthood was cause for envy, especially in families where prayers for a son and heir went unanswered and the family property would have to pass to a brother, nephew or cousin instead but there were drawbacks to that blessing, particularly when the family income was not sufficient to provide for them all in a manner befitting their rank… as Edward now had good cause to know.

He was the eldest son and, as such, he was the natural heir to the Seymour family estates. Upon his father's death, he became master of Wolf Hall, and owner of his father's lands but the expenses that family duty would demand of him would eat into his new income. He had three sisters who would need to be supplied with suitable marriage portions, and a brother who would have to be provided with the funds he would need to help him make his way in the world.

His wife, Anne Stanhope, had commented bitterly that by the time his siblings were supplied with their portions, there would be very little left for them and for their children.

If it was an exaggeration, it was not much of one.

Elizabeth was betrothed and their father had begun to put some money aside for the dowry he promised her future husband, managing to amass a little over half the agreed upon amount but there were still hundreds of pounds left for Edward to come up with in order to match the promised sum, and the last thing he wanted was for himself and his family to be put in the humiliating position of having to admit that they lacked the resources to fulfil their end of the bargain and supply the promised dowry. It was a disgrace that would be talked about among their neighbours, and jeered over at court whenever he visited.

When the time came, Dorothy would need to be supplied with a similar sum if she was to make a match worthy of her birth. Tom was at court and, as he did not have a position that would generate an income sufficient to meet his needs – and, to his dismay and Edward's, it seemed that of everybody at court, the Seymours were the least likely to obtain any posts that became available, as though the King feared that it would offend the Queen if they were shown even that much favour, despite the fact that they were uncles to his son – he would need to be provided with enough money to ensure that he lived in the manner his station required.

At least he did not have to worry about Jane.

Their father was soft, doting on his eldest daughter and refusing to consider the idea of pushing her into marriage when she was reluctant to take a husband, despite Edward's earnest efforts to convince him that, even if she was initially reluctant, it would be in Jane's best interests if they took advantage of the opportunity to find her a good husband when they had the chance to do so, when she was still young and pretty and when the King was sure to dower her well. They could find her a man who would be able to ensure that she was well cared for and who would render her respectable with the marriage, transforming her from a former mistress and the mother of a bastard child to a decent matron.

The longer they waited, the less generous the King would be inclined to be.

Edward's wife had made it plain to him that, once she became mistress of Wolf Hall, she did not want to have Jane continue to live under their roof. She never said so openly but Edward knew that she harboured resentment towards Jane over the fact that her affair with the King meant that the Seymours – who were, after all, distant kin to Queen Anne and who might otherwise have a tentative claim on her favour – were avoided by others of their class. Family duty was all well and good but as long as Jane continued to reside at Wolf Hall, the Seymour family could expect to be shunned by other families of their class, who would not want to associate with a woman of her reputation, something that would harm Dorothy's prospects, not to mention the prospects of any children that Edward and his wife would have.

That was something they could not allow.

His father's illness was a long one and, although Edward would never have dreamed of voicing his intentions for when he became head of the family while his father continued to draw breath, knowing that it would be unseemly for him to make reference to it, he was well aware that the day was fast approaching and he began to lay discreet plans, chief of which was the selection of a suitable gentleman to marry Jane, when the time came. He also contacted Master Cromwell, asking about what arrangements might be made to dower the mother of the King's son. The King had promised a dowry when little Edward was born, but that was almost three years ago and he might not be as inclined to be generous now.

The response did not come from Master Cromwell which, while unsurprising given that the affair of the religious houses had kept the man occupied, was disappointing. Instead of Jane's future being considered by no less a person than the Lord Chancellor of England, responsibility for dealing with the issue was to be delegated. Worse still was the identity of the man chosen to deal with the correspondence regarding the matter.

The Duke of Norfolk was not the worst man for the King to have chosen to entrust with the task, but he was not far from that. The Duke of Wiltshire or the Earl of Ormonde, as father and brother to the Queen, would be the worst men for the job, the ones who were all but guaranteed to ensure that only the most minimal provisions they could get away with were supplied for Jane and for little Edward but Norfolk, as the Queen's uncle, was also bound to be interested in promoting her interests and those of her children, which meant discouraging the King from taking an interest in his son and providing for him as he had for little Henry Fitzroy.

Norfolk certainly would not take it upon himself to encourage the King to be more generous if his inclination was to be stingy, quite the reverse.

The response to Edward's letter was courteously worded, expressing pleasure, on the King's behalf, that Jane had been able to find a suitable husband – Edward could imagine Norfolk's smugness as he wrote those words, undoubtedly thinking that any man who was prepared to take Jane as his wife would not be a husband worth having – and giving a figure for the dowry that she could expect to be provided with, once the marriage contract was signed.

Three thousand pounds.

It was a respectable sum, the kind of dowry that the daughter of a prosperous lord could expect to bring to her future husband, a welcome addition to the fortune of most bridegrooms. Edward was going to have to stretch his finances to ensure that Elizabeth would bring a third of that sum to her bridegroom and dreaded the day when Dorothy found a match and would need to be dowered.

It was not as though he was incapable of appreciating that the dowry promised for Jane was larger than any dowry he or his father had the means to supply her with, but he was still disappointed by the figure, thinking that it could have been much higher, especially if Jane had had the sense to marry as soon after the birth as possible, at a time when the King would have been at his most generous. She might even have found herself a baroness, or even a viscountess if the King wished to ennoble the husband of the mother of his son.

But she had not behaved sensibly, and he could not change that now.

Edward was a practical man. Wishing that Jane had acted differently would change nothing. He might as well wish that Anne had miscarried the little Prince of Wales, or that Jane had become the King's wife and Queen rather than his mistress, for all the good wishing would do him. He had to deal with the situation as it stood instead of wasting his time and his energy by wishing that things were different. A man could only work with what he had.

Fortunately, the man he had selected as a potential husband for his sister was not an avaricious man, so the promised dowry of three thousand pounds would be more than adequate.

He was an acquaintance of Edward's, a man who had spent his youth at court and who was knighted as a reward for his good service to the King but he had left the court to be married eight years ago, and never returned. He was content with life in the country, and his inherited estates ensured that he and his family would never want for anything. As a widower with three young children, the eldest not yet seven, he was eager to remarry, to provide his children with a stepmother, his household with a mistress and himself with a companion, and he was not a man who would be too proud to wed a woman who was once mistress to the King of England.

Edward thought that even his father would have welcomed the man as his son-in-law, had he known that his eldest son had begun tentative discussions with him about the possibility of a match being arranged between him and Jane.

He was poring over his father's account books, taking special note of the expenses relating to little Edward's upkeep and the wages of the servants needed to tend to the King's son, feeling relieved to confirm that the allowance for his nephew's upkeep was paid regularly, and that it was sufficient to meet his needs. Part of him had feared that, given the King's apparent lack of interest in his son, he might have supplied a lower allowance than the child's needs would demand, and that he would discover that his father had shouldered some of the costs himself rather than skimp on expenses in the little boy's nursery, costs that would now have to be met from Edward's purse as there could be no question of denying the King's son his due or neglecting to pay him the honour his royal blood demanded.

The allowance had covered mother and son, providing for their needs amply and, if Edward was fortunate, it would not be reduced now, even though there would no longer be a need to meet Jane's expenses from the sum. If that was the case, the excess income could prove very valuable to him when it came to running Wolf Hall.

He was almost finished when he was interrupted by a knock on the door, and one of the servants entered, sketching a bow. "Sir William Herbert is here to see you, Master." He said.

"Send him in." Edward rose to his feet, ready to greet his guest and knowing that, as an ordinary gentleman, he was expected to pay his respects to a knight of the realm. He felt a flash of irritation; had Jane played her cards better, he was sure that he would have been knighted by now, at the very least, and he would be greeting Sir William as his equal rather than his superior. He put a smile on his face, however, and when the other man was conducted into the room, he greeted him cordially, making solicitous enquiries about his journey and his health.

"A very pleasant journey, Master Seymour, very pleasant and I am in excellent health, Thank God." Sir William told him affably, shaking his hand warmly. He willingly allowed himself to be conducted over to a chair by the fireside, thanking Edward for the goblet of wine that was pressed into his hand. "I hope the same is true of yourself."

"I am well enough. As you may remember, Sir William," Edward began, pouring a goblet of wine for himself, though he had no intention of drinking it, "you and I discussed a matter – a personal matter – not long ago." Sir William nodded confirmation. "Due to my father's illness, and his sad demise, we were unable to conclude our discussions and…"

"I am still interested, Master Seymour, if that's what you wish to ask." Sir William interrupted, wanting to cut through the discomfort and to get straight to the point. "I've met Mistress Jane… before." Since she became pregnant with little Edward, few people outside the family had seen Jane, as she did not attend social events. On the rare occasions when visitors came to dine at Wolf Hall, she usually stayed away, for the sake of discretion. "She's a lovely lady, and a very kind and gentle one – a lady who'll be kind to my little ones." From Sir William's perspective, it was not good for a man in his prime to be without a wife for too long but it was worse still for children to be left without a mother to care for them. Even if his own inclination had been to remain a bachelor, he would have remarried to provide his children with a stepmother.

"I'm glad." Edward's voice was neutral but his relief was genuine.

It was not easy for him to find a suitable husband for his sister under the circumstances, and he was aware of how lucky he was that Sir William had professed himself willing to marry Jane when he first broached the issue. The man was a knight, which made him a suitable match in terms of his position, and he was financially comfortable. He was also not a courtier any longer, which was ideal; a man who hoped to make his fortune at court would never be prepared to take Jane on. It was too well known that the King had had little time for her or for her son since she first left court, shortly after Prince Harry's birth, and there was a risk that the man who took her as his wife might find himself at a disadvantage at court rather than the reverse, especially since the Howards and the Boleyns would have little cause to look favourably on Jane's husband.

"Have you told Mistress Jane yet? About my suit, I mean?" Sir William asked, feeling rather nervous. He prided himself on being an honest man, one who would be a good and considerate husband and who would make few demands on his wife, but he was aware of the fact that not even his dearest friend could not have called him a handsome man and he was Jane's senior by more than a few years.

"Not yet." Edward told him gravely. Had he mentioned the matter to Jane while their father still lived, he knew well that he could expect his sister to run to their father, appealing to him to prevent the marriage, and their father was likely to take her part, exacting a promise from Edward that he would not proceed with the matter without his sister's consent, a promise that filial duty would oblige him to keep, regardless of what he thought best. "With my father ill and with his death, it did not seem like a fit time to bring up the matter, not while we were still in mourning."

"Of course, of course."

"But I am sure that she will be delighted when she learns of it, and grateful for her good fortune." Edward assured his future brother-in-law solemnly. Before Sir William could ask about whether or not he could see Jane, whose disposition was bound to make it clear that she most certainly did _not_ welcome the idea of marriage if she saw her bridegroom before she had had a chance to become accustomed to the news, he continued. "Out of respect for my father, the wedding cannot take place straight away, not while we are in mourning for him, but I believe that a ceremony could be arranged for next month, if that suits you."

"It does." Sir William said with a smile.

"Then I will make the necessary arrangements." Edward said, rising from his chair to indicate that the interview was at an end. It was not that he meant to be discourteous but he had many things to do today, especially if he was to make arrangements for a wedding next month. Even if the circumstances demanded a quiet wedding, it would still require a great deal of organization... though, under the circumstances, he imagined that his wife would be more willing to lend her assistance than she usually was to help Jane in any way.

Sir William rose too. "If you will forgive me, Master Seymour... Edward," he amended, thinking that as the other man was soon to be his brother-in-law, they should begin to speak to one another as brothers would, "I cannot stay long." He said tactfully, sparing Edward the discomfort of having to make more overt hints that he wished to end their interview. "There is one more matter, however... a delicate one." He said, lowering his voice slightly, even though there was nobody within earshot. "Mistress Jane's little lad..."

"The King's son." Edward said firmly. Bastard or not, there was no shame in little Edward being an acknowledged son of the King and they always referred to him as such. "Lord Edward Fitzroy."

"Yes." Sir William agreed. "I'm sure that Mistress Jane would be happier if she had little Lord Edward with her when we marry, and I wanted you to know that I would have no objection to it if she wished to bring him with her when she comes to live at my place. I have a boy of my own, as you know, and the two girls. There's always room for one more in the nursery, and I would welcome Lord Edward, and treat him as my own son." It was no more than he would have done had he married a widow with a child, and he saw no need to behave differently with Jane, even under the circumstances.

Had another man been the one speaking, Edward would have thought that he was attempting to wrest guardianship of the King's son from him so that he might reap the benefits of being the one who would rear a royal bastard, the one who would enjoy the income supplied for little Edward's care and who might even be rewarded by the King for his care of his son. Sir William, however, was not an ambitious man and it was very likely that he was sincere when he said that he would welcome the little boy and treat him as his own but, regardless of his intentions, this was not something that he could allow.

Although he did not deny that he had his own reasons for wishing to see Jane safely settled and away from Wolf Hall, he also believed that it would be in his nephew's best interests if he was to be removed from his mother's care, not because Jane was an uncaring mother, unfit to tend to a child but because the King was unlikely to take more of an interest in his son as long as Jane still lived under the same roof as little Edward.

The King's feelings towards Jane had not thawed and it was not fair that little Edward should suffer because his father did not wish to see his mother. He was the King's son and he deserved to benefit from the royal blood flowing through his veins, just as Edward himself deserved to be honoured as his uncle, now his guardian. After the way he had suffered when the existence of his sister's child became known, mocked as the man who hoped to see his sister sit on the throne and to rise to glory clutching to her petticoats, only to have to content himself with being the uncle of a bastard the King barely deigned to notice, he felt that he was owed a title at the very least.

It was fortunate that he had continued to attend court, despite his embarrassment, as he would now be in a position to make it known that Jane was safely married and away from Wolf Hall, and that the King's son lived under his roof and under his care. If they were fortunate, the King would decide to pay his child a visit now that he could do so without encountering Jane and rousing the Queen's jealousy, and when he saw how well little Edward was growing, he would be generous.

To some, it might seem cold but Edward truly believed that this was in his nephew's best interests.

Sir William was waiting for him to respond.

"It is very kind of you to make that offer, Sir William, and I wish that I could accept." He said, infusing his tone with regret, wanting the other man to believe that, under other circumstances, he would have been only too pleased to turn his nephew over to his care. "But I'm afraid that it is impossible. His Majesty the King indicated that, when my sister married, Lord Edward should continue to reside here at Wolf Hall, as my father's ward – or mine, in this case. Naturally we must honour the King's wishes." He lied, knowing that the other man would not think to question his honesty, particularly when he was invoking the King's name. He would take him at his word.

"Naturally." Sir William echoed, trying to hide his disappointment. He wanted his future wife to be happy and he believed that she would settle into her new home more easily if she could have her little son with her and know that they would both be welcome into the bosom of the Herbert family but, as Edward said, they had to follow the King's wishes in this regard.

"You will both be welcome to visit here of course, as often as you like." Edward offered. "And, if I may, Sir William, I would ask that you do not mention your generous offer to my sister, before your marriage or after. She will be reluctant to leave Lord Edward, and I think that it would be best if she is not given false hope that she may keep him with her. His Majesty seemed determined that the boy should remain here and he would not be pleased if she sought to change his mind."

"I understand." Sir William responded. "Will you give my regards to Mistress Jane?"

"Of course, Sir William." Edward agreed, walking to the door with the other man. Once Sir William was gone, he breathed a sigh of relief.

His sister was settled now, or would be within the month. He would have the guardianship of her son – of the King's son – and he would be able to show the King how well he was caring for the child, and how concerned he was with the little boy's future. If they were fortunate, everything would be different now.

Perhaps the Seymour family had been given a second chance.

* * *

**_15th October 1539_ **

Cromwell had taken Anne's advice, waiting until after the royal children had left Whitehall to return to their own establishment at Hatfield before he approached the King to offer him his resignation.

He had rehearsed the speech he intended to make countless times before he sought an audience with the King, putting a great deal of thought into what it was he was going to say and knowing that the speech could either sway the King in his favour or else destroy any chance that he might have of being restored to his good graces if he offended him in any way.

When he planned what it was he intended to say, he knew that he would have to be humble, and he would have to acknowledge responsibility for what had happened with the uprising, even if he did not believe himself to be at fault in this matter, even if he believed that the decisions he made were made in the best interests of his King and his country. What he believed did not matter. Even the truth did not matter. What mattered was that the King blamed him and he would have scant patience with any attempts Cromwell made to excuse his decisions or to absolve himself of responsibility for what had happened. The only thing that had a chance of softening his anger was a humble admission of guilt and an apology for the trouble his errors in judgement had caused.

After that, all he could do was hope that he would be shown mercy... the kind of mercy that neither Wolsey nor More, both of whom had been more dearly loved by Henry than he was, were not shown when they fell from favour.

It was strange.

He had practiced his speech so often but the words that sounded so sincere and so unrehearsed when he spoke them in his rooms came out as stiff and unnatural as soon as he was in his King's presence, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make it sound anything else.

Fortune smiled on him today, at least a little, and Henry did not seem to be paying much attention to what he was saying, nodding distractedly as he spoke and only giving Cromwell his full attention when his chancellor knelt before him, offering up the great seal of his office and beseeching to be allowed to resign his position.

Time slowed to a crawl for Cromwell as he knelt in supplication, the velvet bag containing the seal feeling heavy in his hands as he held it out, waiting to see if Henry would accept it.

As Anne had said, once he offered up the seal, Henry's response would show him where he stood. He would either refuse to accept it, insisting that Cromwell retain his position, a command he would be only too pleased to obey, or he would accept the seal and his resignation, saying something courteous about how much he valued his service but, at the same time, making it plain that he had neither the intention nor the inclination to retain that service.

Henry's expression was unreadable. He did not respond straight away and his silence gave Cromwell hope, hope that he might be allowed a second chance, hope that his previous years of service had pleased his master enough to ensure that he would not want to lose him over one matter, even if that matter was a serious one, but as soon as Henry rose from his throne, bending to pluck the seal from Cromwell's outstretched hands, that hope was dashed.

Henry spoke but Cromwell didn't hear him. He wasn't frowning, so the former chancellor knew that his anger was mollified by his resignation and by his apology. He might have been saying anything; thanking Cromwell for his years of service, or telling him what he might expect by way of a pension or honours as a reward for his past good service. Cromwell took in none of it.

When the interview concluded, there was part of him, a large part, that deeply regretted leaving the King's presence, knowing that there was a good chance that he might never be permitted to come into his presence again but another part of him knew that he was lucky to be walking away from him, more or less of his own free will and with his head held high, instead of being banished in disgrace or, worse still, being arrested as two of his predecessors were.

He might have to leave the court, abdicating the power he had wielded for so long but he was a luckier man than Wolsey or More, and that was something to be thankful for.

* * *

**_16th October 1539_ **

Henry had no idea who he would choose to fill Cromwell's vacated position. There was no doubt in his mind that there would be many men at court who would be all too eager to be granted the position, knowing that as chancellor they would wield more power and influence than virtually any other man in England, save the King himself did, but that did not mean that any of them were actually suitable for the position or deserving of it.

Whoever was granted the position would have big shoes to fill.

For all his faults, Cromwell had done well as Lord Chancellor, especially when one considered the circumstances that he had worked in. There were few men who would have been able to handle such delicate issues as Henry's Great Matter as ably as Cromwell had and, in a way, Henry would miss him.

There could be no question of him staying on in his post, of course. After what had happened with the religious houses, that would be unthinkable. The people would never have stood for Cromwell being permitted to retain his position of power after that disaster and Henry was thankful that Cromwell had realized that, at least, and that he had had the sense to offer his resignation himself, instead of waiting for Henry to have to perform the uncomfortable task of dismissing him.

As angry as he had been with the other man, his feelings softened somewhat when he saw that, whatever his mistakes, at least Cromwell was able to recognize them and to acknowledge that, in this situation, the best thing that he could do if he hoped to serve his country was to step down.

In time, when things were a little more settled, he would be able to properly reward Cromwell for his past service. He intended to see to it that he was supplied with an adequate pension and he was even going to ennoble him, making him a baron to signal to his court that, although Cromwell was no longer chancellor, Henry did not forget his past service.

But he still needed a new chancellor, and he had no idea who it should be. Anne might have some ideas about who he could pick, she had proven to be better able to think up solutions to problems than he would ever have credited her with, spotting answers that eluded him and quickly getting to the heart of the matter.

A slow smile spread across his face as an idea struck him.

Finishing his breakfast, he dabbed his mouth with his napkin and rose to his feet, extending a hand to Anne. "I hope that you don't have anything important planned for this morning, my darling. Because if you do, it's going to have to wait a couple of hours." He told her, helping her to her feet and guiding her out of her apartment, answering her questions about where they were going and what he was doing with smiles and slight shakes of the head, indicating that she would have to be patient and wait and see.

He didn't need to look back to know that Anne's ladies were astonished by this. He could imagine that, as soon as he and Anne were safely out of earshot, there would be rampant speculation about what this could mean.

They had lingered longer than usual over breakfast this morning and the members of his Privy Council were already assembled and waiting for him when he entered the chamber where their meetings took place, Anne on his arm. To a man, their wide eyes and open mouths spoke of their utter astonishment when Henry escorted Anne into the room, instructing the servants in the chamber to have a chair brought for Anne, and placed to the right of his chair – though, to do him justice, Norfolk recovered from his surprise more quickly than the others did, giving Anne a smile of welcome and moving his chair further down the table to make room for hers when the servants brought it.

Aside from the brief period when Katherine had acted as Regent on his behalf, no woman had ever attended a meeting of the Privy Council... but then, a time might come when Anne would be Regent. Henry had every intention of living many years more, until Harry was a grown man with children of his own, but such things were in God's hands and, if he died before his son reached his majority, it would fall to Anne to rule on Harry's behalf, keeping the country safe and prosperous until Harry was ready for the responsibility to be turned over to him.

It was best that she was prepared for that task, just in case, and Henry didn't see any harm in having her input beforehand.

If she was able to help him come up with solutions to his problems, solutions that might not occur to the men on his Privy Council, what did her sex matter? An idea did not become more or less valuable, depending on whether the one who thought of it was male or female. The men on his Privy Council were not the ones who devised the means to bring an end to the uprisings, after all. Anne was, and she had rightly won the respect of the people as a result.

Once they were seated, Henry reached over to squeeze Anne's hand gently.

He didn't need to ask her whether or not she minded being brought to attend the meeting, or if she was happy that he had made his respect for her and for her intelligence known to his council by bringing her here today.

Her smile told him all he needed to know.

The men on his Privy Council took their seats, rifling through the documents in front of them, each with his own opinion about what it was they should focus on today. Henry nodded to Norfolk, inviting him to be the first to raise an issue, and the meeting began.

* * *

**_30th November 1539_ **

Her new husband was a good man.

As much as she resented the fact that her brother had pressed her to marry, selecting a man he deemed to be a suitable match for her before their father was cold, she could not deny that. She didn't care too much about his status as a knight, or even about his fortune. she was just relieved to see that he was a kind man, one who treated her respectfully, seeming almost shy in her presence at times, and who would not reproach her for her past.

Edward made it plain that she could not expect him to house her under his roof forever and that, as a good man had been found for her, one who was willing to marry her and who would care for her, it was her duty to accept him and to do so with a smile on her face. With her reputation, she was fortunate to find so good a man as Sir William and, if she was foolish enough to refuse to recognize her good fortune and to be thankful for it, he hinted that other arrangements would have to be made for her, perhaps a convent, as she could not reside with him and with his family indefinitely.

His eyes were so cold when he pointed out that, based on how little attention the King had paid to her or even to her little son since the day the child was born, it was unlikely that he would raise any objection if he was asked to supply a dowry so that she could enter a convent instead of so that she could marry. In fact, it was likely that he would be more than willing to do so.

As a married woman, she would still be able to visit Wolf Hall from time to time, with her husband's permission, and when she did, she would be able to see her son. If she was sent to a convent, a closed order, then she would never be able to see him again.

Put like that, her choice was an easy one.

Doing something that would completely cut off her contact with her precious little son was simply not an option. It would never be an option.

She would have married a far worse man than William Herbert if the alternative was that she would never be able to see Edward again.

The marriage ceremony was a quiet one, attended only by her family and a couple of close friends of Sir William's. Under the circumstances, her brother – who, as head of the family, now had the authority to dictate such things – believed that it would be better if they erred on the side of discretion, dispensing with the lavish celebrations that usually accompanied a wedding.

Little Edward, not yet three years old, was too young to be able to attend the nuptial Mass but his nursemaid was under strict instructions to bring him down before Jane and her husband departed, so that she could say goodbye to him, explaining to him that she had to go away.

Her brother's tone was so cold and so matter of fact when he told her that, naturally, he would now act as little Edward's guardian, with Jane's precious little boy residing at Wolf Hall rather than travelling with her to her new home, where he could have lived and played with his new stepbrother and stepsisters. It was as though neither he nor her husband were able to see that there was anything wrong or even unusual about expecting her to stand in a mother's place to her three new stepchildren but, at the same time, to leave her own little boy in the care of others, moving to a home far away where she would be fortunate if she was able to come back to see him more than once a month.

William was a kind man, and his eagerness to please her gave Jane hope that, if she asked him, he would be prepared to consent to allow her to bring Edward with her but when she suggested the possibility to her brother, as she was bidding him goodbye before setting off in a carriage to her new home, he came closer to losing his temper than she had ever heard him.

"Are you mad, sister?" Edward demanded sharply. "How can you even _think_ of asking a gentleman like Sir William to welcome your bastard son into his household? Do you think that he _wants_ to be reminded of the fact that you were a mother long before you became a wife? It's out of the question – and you need to think of my nephew, as well." He added, before she could protest that there was no harm in asking, even if the answer would be 'no'. "The King has never come to visit young Edward and you and I both know that he will not, not as long as he knows that you will be here too if he comes. If there is to be any hope of your son being honoured by the King, then you will have to let him go and leave him to my care. He will be safe here, sister, I give you my word, and I will do all I can to encourage the King to take an interest in him and to think kindly of him. if we are fortunate, we may one day see him raised to the peerage."

He expected her to thank him, his tone made that clear, but Jane could not force her tongue to voice the words of gratitude that Edward expected from her.

It was true that she would have dearly loved to see her son ennobled, recognized by the King as his own son, a boy of royal blood who should be honoured as such, even if his illegitimacy meant that he could not lay claim to the title of Prince. She would have loved to see him take his place alongside the other peers of the realm, to know that his future was a secure one and that he would be provided for the rest of his life and she would have loved to see some sign from the King that he truly rejoiced over the fact that she had made him the father of such a beautiful, clever little boy, a boy that any father should be proud to own as his son. However, even if it was selfish, she wanted that less than she wanted to have her son with her always, for her to be the one who played with him and who cared for him when he was ill and who watched him while he learned to read and to write and to ride his first pony.

Now, Edward's nursemaid would care for him instead, perhaps even coming to fill the place in his heart that his mother should fill.

She was realistic enough to know that, if she had become Queen and her son was a Prince, she would not have been able to spend as much time with him in his whole childhood as she had in the few years they had had together. Queen Anne loved her children dearly, even her worst enemy could not have denied that, but she would have had to watch while they were taken from her and sent away to their own establishment, as befitted a royal prince and princess, as Jane would have if she was the King's wife. If she was the wife of another man, she would have nursemaids and wetnurses to tend to her babies, women who would rear them while her duties as mistress of a household kept her busy and while her husband sought to sire another child on her before the last had cut its first tooth.

She had been blessed to have as much time with Edward as she had but she could have had more time with him, should have had more time with him.

Even if her son was made a duke, she didn't think that she would ever be able to thank her brother for taking that time from her.

There was no point in arguing with him, however.

What was done was done and it could not be undone.

There wedding ceremony was over and Mistress Jane Seymour had become Lady Herbert.

Her belongings had been packed into trunks and loaded on top of the carriage that would bring her to her new home. She had said her goodbyes to her sisters and to her sister-in-law, to her brothers and even to some of the servants, those who had tended to the family for so long that she could scarcely imagine Wolf Hall without them. Now there was only one more person left for her to bid farewell to, the one person that she would miss more than everybody else combined.

Little Edward's nursemaid held him by the hand as she brought him down the stairs to the hall where his mother was waiting, bobbing a curtsey before releasing her little charge and watching, with an indulgent smile on her face, as he ran towards Jane, his arms outstretched.

Jane bent down, lifting her child up and holding him close, kissing his soft cheeks and resting her chin on his fair head. "Hello, my darling." She said.

"Hello, Mama." He looked up at her with wide blue eyes. "Nurse said that you had a husband and you were going away." He told her solemnly, regarding her curiously. "Are you?" Jane nodded, feeling unable to speak. "Will I be coming with you?" Although he asked the question, the little boy didn't expect any answer other than 'yes'. He had never been away from his mother for even a day since he was born and he didn't see why this should change, even if, as his nurse had said, his mother had a husband now. He was still her little boy and he knew that his mother loved him best of all. She often said so.

Jane shook her head, biting her lip to keep the tears from flowing. She set him down on the floor, stroking his hair. "No, dearest, you're not. You're going to stay here, with your Uncle Edward." For the little boy's sake, she tried to sound cheerful about this, not wanting to upset him, but she could feel a lump in her throat as she spoke, one that would not go away.

"Why?" Her son asked, dismayed by the prospect of her leaving him.

"Because your father, the King, would wish for you to live at Wolf Hall, with me." His Uncle Edward told him before his mother could answer his question. "His Majesty wishes for me to take care of you while your mother goes to live with Sir William, her new husband." Edward smiled at his nephew, crouching down to child level.

He would never be called a warm man, or an affectionate one but he was fond of the little boy, in his way, and he wanted what was best for him. As long as he remained in Jane's care, little Edward's chances of securing his father's favour would be slim. He would be provided with all he needed materially but no more than that, and there would be no question of him bearing a grand title. He could have let the child leave with his mother and his new stepfather, knowing that he would be treated kindly there and that his childhood would be a happy one but the damage to his chances of being favoured by his royal father would be immeasurable. They would grow more remote as soon as he left Wolf Hall.

One day, he believed that both his sister and his nephew would understand why he had not taken Sir William up on his offer to welcome his new stepson as well as his wife, and that they would even thank him for being far-sighted enough to be able to see what was best for them all.

"Why?" Edward asked again, pouting. He knew that his father was the King, and that little boys had to obey their fathers and their King, which meant that he had to be extra careful to do whatever his father commanded of him, but he had never even seen his father before, except when he was a baby and much too little to remember, so he couldn't understand why his father wouldn't want him to stay with his mother. If he left her, he wouldn't have any parent!

That thought was dreadful enough to bring to tears to his eyes, tears that ran down his face until his mother bent down to gently wipe them away with a handkerchief.

"Come now," Edward chided his nephew, albeit mildly. "A King's son must not be a cry-baby! The King would want his son to be a brave boy, a boy he could be proud of! He would want you to stay here at Wolf Hall and, when you are a little older, to work hard at your lessons and to learn how to ride a horse and to shoot and fence. Then he will be pleased with you."

Little Edward nodded half-heartedly, obediently doing his best to stop crying, but it was very difficult. He knew that he should want to be a good boy and for his father to be proud of him but all he could think about was how much he was going to miss his mother. She knelt down in front of him, putting her arms around him and hugging him close, kissing him over and over.

"It's alright, dearest, I promise." She told him gently, forcing herself to smile for his sake. "Uncle Edward will take good care of you and I'll come and see you as often as I can, I promise."

Her brother laid a hand on her shoulder, reaching down with his other hand to grasp little Edward's. "I think it would be better for him if you don't drag this out, sister." He said quietly but very firmly. "Just say goodbye quickly."

Jane nodded tearfully, kissing Edward once more before releasing him, allowing her brother to pick him up. "Goodbye, my precious boy." She told him. "I'll see you soon – very soon." Even if Sir William objected to her visiting, something she deemed unlikely, she would saddle a horse and ride back to Wolf Hall without his permission if that was what it took.

Her husband was waiting for her, hovering near the door while she bid her son goodbye, and he approached her now, offering her his arm, his brown eyes soft with sympathy and concern. He said something to little Edward, though she couldn't register what it was, and then guided her out to the carriage, murmuring promises that he would bring her back for a visit soon.

She turned as she left, watching her brother hold her son in his arms and praying that Edward would fulfil his promise and that he would care for her son well, treating him kindly, and that he would allow her to visit Wolf Hall as often as she liked, instead of fobbing her off with excuses.

She had to believe that he would, or she would never be able to walk away.

Little Edward watched her leave, biting his lower lip to keep from crying again. He was the King's son, and he had to be a brave boy now... a brave boy without his mother.


	30. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**_24th December 1540_ **

Mary studied her reflection dispassionately, her brow creasing in a slight frown as she brushed a non-existent wrinkle out of the skirt of her gown. It was made of blue-green silk, a far cry from the black gowns that she usually wore during her free time, when she was not required to wear the ivory and gold gowns that Anne supplied for the use of her ladies when they were attending her, and it had been made in the French style. The matching hood was trimmed with a row of seed pearls and the square neckline was embroidered with silver thread and more seed pearls.

The gown and hood were an early Christmas gift from Anne, who had summoned Mary and several other ladies to her at the beginning of the month so that they could be measured and so that the dressmakers could select the fabrics which would be most becoming for their colouring and designs that would be fashionable and flattering for them, explaining to them that she would be giving them their Christmas gifts early this year, instead of waiting until Christmas Day, in case they wished to wear them over the holiday.

Joan had teased Mary when she heard about the gown fitting and about Anne's remark that they might wear them for Christmas if they wished, suggesting that Anne's generosity might have been motivated by a desire to ensure that Mary did not attend the Christmas revels clad from head to toe in black, as she had last year. If that was the case, Anne would have her wish.

Even if Mary would have preferred to dress in black, to make it clear to everybody at court that she was not celebrating, that she was set apart from them and did not truly consider herself one of the courtiers, she couldn't snub Anne by openly refusing to wear her gift, not unless she wished to find herself on the receiving end of a severe tongue-lashing from her father, who reacted angrily to any perceived disrespect towards Anne on her part and who could be relied upon to take Anne's side unquestioningly, so she had accepted the gown with all the grace she could muster and would wear it tonight and for tomorrow's feast, regardless of her personal preferences or her feelings towards the donor.

The last thing she needed was to make fresh trouble for herself with her father.

Perhaps, if she was fortunate, one of the courtiers would be so obliging as to knock a goblet of wine into her lap, staining her gown and providing her with an excuse to wear one of her other gowns instead of this one for the New Year revels. If she was the one who spilled something on her gown, she wouldn't put it past her father to accuse her of doing it deliberately, of treating Anne's kind gift with contempt.

It was not that Mary objected to the idea of wearing a beautiful gown.

She was still young and she still loved fine clothes and jewels, a passion she had had since she was a little girl. She would be lying if she said that she had not felt a thrill when the dressmakers were finished with their work and Anne presented her with the box containing her new gown but she was painfully aware of the fact that, although it was beautifully made, her gown was no finer than those presented to the other ladies, with no difference in either the quality of the cloth or of the adornment on the gown that would indicate that the recipient was of royal blood.

It was a gown to be given as a gift to a lady-in-waiting, not a gown for a princess.

Elizabeth was the one who was honoured as a princess now, and the little girl had even been given some of the jewels that were once Mary's, bestowed upon her by an adoring father when he first gave her the title of Princess of Wales and sent her to Ludlow, while the others were kept safely locked away until Harry was old enough to marry, giving England a new Princess of Wales.

Mary dreaded the day when her half-siblings were old enough to be married. When they were married, their weddings would act as a signal to all of Europe that they were accepted as legitimate by the royal houses that accepted them as spouses for their children. The King of France had already accepted Elizabeth as a bride for one of his sons but, worse still, there were rumours that the Emperor was interested in a match between Harry and his youngest daughter, the Infanta Juana, who was only a year Harry's senior.

Mary didn't want to believe that her own cousin, the man who had once offered her mother such staunch support, would betray her like that, that he would contemplate offering his daughter to Harry when he knew that this would be tantamount to a declaration on his part that Harry was the legitimate and rightful heir while Mary was a bastard but if the Emperor felt that this was for the best, he would do it, regardless of his kinship with her.

For the weeks preceding Christmas, Anne's apartment had looked like a cross between a dressmaker's shop and the warehouse of a merchant dealing in fine cloth. Instead of spending their time sewing clothes for the poor, an activity that usually occupied a great deal of their time, preparations for Christmas occupied Anne's time and her ladies', with particular attention being paid to clothes. Anne's new gowns were amazing, each seeming finer than the last, and when she turned her attention to seeing to the Christmas wardrobes for her two children, it became evident that Elizabeth and little Harry were to be provided for just as lavishly as their mother, with every garment and every jewel they were to wear carefully selected, and fine enough to make it clear that they were the royal children, England's prince and princess.

Mary had helped Nan Saville lay out Anne's gown for tonight before she was dismissed to change herself – Anne never asked Mary to help her dress or bathe, something Mary was thankful for – and it was deep purple, with matching jewellery, a tiara, necklace, rings and bracelets that Mary recognized as belonging to the collection of official jewels belonging to the Queens of England, jewels that had once belonged to her mother. Elizabeth was also to wear purple, a gown very similar to Anne's in colour and design, and Mary suspected that her father and Harry would wear it too, so that the royal family would match.

She was no longer entitled to wear purple.

Purple was the colour for royalty and, although nobody would dare to deny Mary's royal heritage – even those who cleaved to the lie that her parents' marriage had been invalid would never dare to suggest that she was not her father's daughter, her mother's reputation for virtue ensured this – her father was not prepared to extend the right to wear purple to the daughter he had branded illegitimate. He was not prepared to take the slightest chance that anybody might think that she was in any way equal to his children by Anne, even over something as simple as a colour.

The court would attend Mass tonight, at midnight, and the people would be allowed to be present for that but, instead of sitting in the pew that she had shared with her parents when she was a little girl, Mary would be relegated to a pew further back, shared with Anne's ladies, reinforcing her status as a supposed bastard.

As difficult as it was to have to appear in an inferior position to Anne and her children before the lords and ladies of the court, it was far worse to have to do that before the common people.

Many of the courtiers adjusted their loyalties depending on who was in favour, and could be uncertain allies, at best, as their primary concern would always be their own position and advancement, but the majority of the common people had always taken Mary's part and her mother's, at least before Anne's supporters spread their foul lies, blaming her for an attempt made to poison Anne during her pregnancy, knowing that this would weaken her support and ensure that the people sided with Anne instead.

Mary was sure that at least some of the people who attended Mass with the court tonight would be old enough to remember the days when Princess Mary had attended, sitting between two parents who adored her and whose marriage had been an unusually happy one, by the standards of royal unions, before Anne returned from France and everything began to go so wrong but when they came tonight they would see Lady Mary, attendant of 'Queen Anne'... if they even spared a glance to the ladies-in-waiting sitting in their pew, instead of watching the King, his 'wife' and their children instead, marvelling at the beauty of their so-called Queen and at the health and vitality of her two children.

"Maybe I should have a headache." She commented bitterly while Joan carefully adjusted her hood, trying to remember which illness she had not pleaded recently. She couldn't decide whether it would be better to establish a pattern for a particular ailment and stick to that or whether she should vary it as much as possible and ensure that she did not repeat herself too often, to help deflect suspicion that she was shamming and to ensure that neither her father nor Anne insisted that a physician should examine her. She claimed headaches frequently, perhaps too frequently, especially since she had them in truth quite often as well, but if she were to suffer from women's troubles, discretion would forbid anybody to question her more closely about them...

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, my lady." Joan told her, shaking her head in exasperation. It would have been bad enough if Mary's illnesses were all feigned, as at least then she could ensure that she did not stretch credibility to the point where her father or her stepmother would question her more closely and accuse her of lying but, in addition to the illnesses she claimed when she couldn't bear the thought of reporting to Anne's apartment to perform her duties, she was often truly ill, and she could not control the timing of those ailments.

"Why not?" Mary asked. "It's not as though the harlot is going to argue about it. She never does."

"One of these days, you'll call Queen Anne that to her face and then the fat will be in the fire for you." Joan said gruffly. Had Mary not been a King's daughter and her mistress, she might have rolled her eyes or told her that she was behaving like a fool. She frequently implored her to get into the habit of referring to Anne by her title as Queen in private as well as according her the necessary courtesies in public, even though she knew that Mary would view that as a betrayal of her late mother. She was afraid that if she did not make it a natural habit to refer to her as such, she would one day make a mistake in public, one that would get her into a lot of trouble, particularly if word of her slip was carried to the King's ears – and there would be many who would be happy to carry it there, hoping to make trouble for her and to endear themselves to Anne and her family by doing so. "And I suspect that she doesn't argue when I bring a message that you are ill because she doesn't want you around her any more than you want to be with her."

Although she knew that this was probably true, Mary still frowned, feeling slightly insulted at the idea that Anne might consider her company unpleasant – even though, if their positions were reversed, she knew that Anne would be the last person that she would want to have near her, a living reminder of the fact that her marriage was invalid and her children were bastards. In Anne's place, she would have wanted her husband's daughter by his _true_ marriage to be as far away from her and from the court as she could possibly be.

It wasn't that Anne treated her unkindly.

In a way, Mary would have preferred if she did, as she would then be giving her cause to report Anne's behaviour to her father, who would undoubtedly be indignant if he was told that his own daughter was being shabbily treated, even by the woman he insisted on calling his wife and whom he insisted that Mary should wait on. Instead Anne, perhaps knowing that she would not be able to get away with poor treatment or cruelty towards the King's own daughter, was careful to always be courteous towards Mary, though Mary wouldn't have described her manner as particularly friendly towards her. She made sure that she treated her exactly as the others were treated, no better and no worse.

Aside from the fact that she had a chamber of her own and that she had Joan in her service, while other young unmarried ladies of Anne's household had to share their chambers and their maidservants, Mary was allowed no special privileges but she was also never singled out for less favourable treatment. She was subject to the same restrictions, expected to perform the same tasks and treated with the same degree of courtesy as all the others were.

It was an improvement over her time at Hatfield in that sense, as Lady Bryan had always made a point of singling her out for the humblest tasks, both as a punishment for her refusal to curtsey to little Elizabeth and to refer to the child as a princess, something that Mary had always emphatically refused to do, unwilling to abdicate her birthright by referring to Elizabeth by the title that was truly hers by rights, and as a constant reminder of the fact that she had been declared illegitimate and no longer enjoyed her previous royal privileges.

As well as that, she had more freedom at court than she was allowed at either Hatfield or the More. She was not permitted to leave the palace grounds, for fear that she would attempt to escape to Spain and to her mother's family but nobody attempted to keep her from walking out in the gardens or riding in the grounds during her free time, nor did they seek to prevent her from mingling with the courtiers if she wished to do so... though that did her little good, as nobody would dare to risk appearing as though they supported her ahead of little Harry, in case Anne's supporters used that to turn the King against them and destroy them.

It would have been bearable for a short time, or at least almost bearable, but she had never expected that she would have to remain as a member of Anne's household for so long.

When she was first ordered to serve as lady-in-waiting, she truly expected that, after a few months, once her father was satisfied that her capitulation was genuine and that he did not need to worry that she would attempt to go back on her promise when she took the Oath and seek to deny her illegitimacy and assert her status as princess as soon as she was given an opportunity to do so. After that, she would be permitted to leave Anne's household and her duties there and she would instead be supplied with one of her own, even if it had to be a small one.

But she had been serving Anne for more than a year now, with no sign from her father about when she could expect to be released from her position. She could not broach the issue with her father, for fear that he would choose to view her desire to escape Anne's household as evidence that she was not reconciled to her illegitimacy and did not fully accept it, as she claimed to – though surely her father could never believe that she could ever be reconciled to that, no matter how well he was able to deceive himself and his conscience these days – and that he would decide that she had to remain in Anne's service longer, until he was satisfied that she accepted the place he had decreed for her.

When she first joined Anne's household, she would never have believed her father capable of leaving her there more than a few months, trusting in his love for her to ensure that he would not want to continue to humiliate her like this. Now, she wasn't sure that he would ever decide to rescue her. He could be capable of leaving her as Anne's attendant for the rest of her life.

She didn't know what she would do if that proved to be the case.

Even if she behaved badly or treated Anne with disrespect, they would recognize that she was doing so in the hopes of being dismissed and they would either keep her as Anne's lady-in-waiting, regardless of her behaviour or else she would be sent to the Tower on some trumped-up charge or another, left there to rot.

Anne had more influence over her father than Mary would ever wanted to see, more influence that her mother had had, much as she hated to admit.

Her father had never allowed her mother to attend meetings of the Privy Council, except for the brief period when she had served as Regent for him when he was away in France, after which he never indicated that he wished for her to continue to attend and to advise him, but he brought Anne with him to every meeting these days.

Two mornings a week, after they had eaten breakfast in Anne's apartment, where her father always spent the night, her father would escort Anne down to the chamber where the Privy Council met and she would be gone for most of the morning. By all accounts, Anne was not merely permitted to attend the meetings and to listen to what was said, she was equal to any of the other members of the Council – at least – and voiced her opinions as openly as any of them did, and more freely than some, knowing that the King would listen to her words and respect her suggestions.

The idea of having a woman attending meetings of the Privy Council, even if that woman was called the Queen, scandalized more than a few of the courtiers. People speculated about the reasons why the King would take such an unorthodox step, with many coming to the conclusion that the King wished to see to it that Anne was encouraged to take an interest in the running of the kingdom during his lifetime to ensure that, if he died while Harry was a minor and she had to act as Regent on her son's behalf, she would be prepared for the responsibility she would be called upon to shoulder.

As difficult as it was to know that Anne was widely accepted as Queen by the people of England, Mary found the idea that she might one day hold the Regency, wielding power that would usually be reserved for a reigning monarch, horrifying.

What would happen to her if that happened?

What would happen to her once her father died?

Whether Anne became Regent or, if Harry had reached his majority and ruled by himself, she could expect that they and their advisors would seek to solidify Harry and Elizabeth's positions and, in order to do so, they would have to highlight Mary's bastard status. They would not be willing to take the risk that she would ever be preferred as heir next to Harry, and they would want to ensure that she did not marry well, in case her descendents might one day seek to assert their rightful claim to the throne ahead of Anne's line... if they allowed her to marry at all, instead of ensuring that she never had a husband or a family of her own, and that her mother's line would die with her.

She also wouldn't put it past Thomas Boleyn to have her murdered if he thought that she could pose a threat to his daughter or his grandchildren.

"There, my lady." Joan's voice intruded on her thoughts as she finished her ministrations, taking a step back to survey the finished effect. "You are ready."

"Almost." Mary corrected her, opening a box set on her small dressing table and rifling through its contents. She did not have many jewels these days, and the pieces in her possession were fairly simple, at least by the standards to which she had become accustomed during her childhood. The piece she was looking for was one of the plainest, a gold cross on a chain that had once belonged to her mother. She wanted to wear something that had belonged to her mother today, to honour her memory, and she did not dare to wear the gold collar her mother had bequeathed her, the once that her mother's mother, Isabella of Castile, had presented to her youngest daughter when she travelled to England to become the bride of the Prince of Wales.

Her father would certainly recognize the collar if he saw it, so she knew better than to wear it.

Once she had donned the cross, she was ready to leave and she left her chamber, accompanied by Joan who was also to attend the Mass, though her status as a humble maidservant meant that she would be standing near the back of the chapel, with the other servants. She had been given instructions to make her way to Anne's apartment once she was ready so that she might join the procession to the chapel and, as her father was also likely to be there, she knew better than to disobey and try to slip quietly into the chapel after her father, Anne and their children had made their entrance.

When she got to Anne's apartment, she saw Harry sitting on the floor in the middle of the outer chamber, playing with Beau and happily unconcerned with the state of his purple velvet suit, despite Lady Bryan's attempts to quietly remonstrate with him. He didn't spare Mary a glance as she entered, seemingly unaware of the fact that anybody had entered the room. Elizabeth was standing a few paces away from her little brother, watching him with a mixture of indulgence and exasperation, looking as though she couldn't decide whether she wanted to reproach him for getting his outfit messy or whether she wanted to join in his game.

As Anne had never asked Mary to be one of the ladies accompanying her when she travelled to Hatfield to see her children, a task that usually fell to her sister, or to Madge Shelton, Nan Saville or even Kitty Howard, the attendants Anne was closest to, Mary was only able to see her young half-siblings on the rare occasions when they came to court for a visit. She hadn't seen Elizabeth since the celebrations in honour of the little girl's seventh birthday and, at a glance, she could see that she had changed a great deal since then.

She had grown taller but she was also more mature looking. Her childish chubbiness seemed to have melted away in a few months, leaving a slim young lady behind, one who carried herself gracefully, a trait she had inherited from her mother, and who enjoyed great confidence. She was a very pretty little girl, a fair-haired miniature of Anne, and would be a great beauty when she was older.

She gave Mary a chilly nod when she saw her, looking at her without smiling. Anne had spoken to her children before they left after their visit more than a year ago, assuring them that they had no cause for concern about Mary harming her or them, inviting Mary to attend her in her apartment when she bid them farewell before they set off for Hatfield again. However, while Elizabeth and Harry may have grudgingly taken Anne's word for it that Mary was not a threat to them, they were not prepared to forgive her for the attempt they believed her to have made on their mother's life.

They would never forgive her for that.

For Mary, who could remember the many times when she had played with her little sister at Hatfield, watching over her when her other attendants slipped away for a moment, Elizabeth's coldness was particularly difficult for her. She did not know Harry so his coldness did not affect her as strongly as Elizabeth's did. It hurt to know that the child she had once loved, despite the fact that Elizabeth was the daughter of a woman who had caused Mary and her mother such pain, something she always strove to keep herself from blaming the little girl for, hated her and she made no secret of that fact.

"Lady Mary." Anne, who was sitting at her dressing table, greeted her with a distracted smile as she gave Nan instructions for the final adjustments to her coiffure and jewels. Henry stood next to her, gently playing with a lock of her hair, twisting it around one of his fingers. He nodded at Mary when she entered but did not speak.

"Your Majesties." Mary curtsied deeply before her father and Anne before making a second, slightly shallower curtsey to Elizabeth and Harry.

"Lady Mary, you will attend the Queen at tomorrow's feast." Henry instructed his daughter after a few moments' pause, looking up and watching her carefully to see her reaction to this. It had not escaped his notice that, if Mary could get away with it, she avoided that task whenever the people were to be permitted to sit in the Great Hall to watch the court dine, something she did not do when he and Anne dined privately.

More than a year in Anne's household had taught Mary to control her facial expressions masterfully and she allowed no trace of what she was feeling to show, making another deep curtsey and looking down, to give her a chance to wipe any trace of unhappiness from her face before she answered. "It would be an honour, Your Majesty." She said with all the sincerity she could muster.

"Yes, it is." Henry agreed in an outwardly pleasant tone. Mary _should_ count it as an honour to be allowed to attend Anne as she dined, particularly when none of them could forget what she had done while Anne was carrying Harry. She should consider herself very fortunate that they were willing to trust her with such a task, and know what she could expect if she did not behave herself. Mary must think that he was a fool if he believed that she could trick him with a show of deference to Anne, especially when she used illness as an excuse to escape her duties so often.

It would take much more than a year or so of service as a lady-in-waiting for him to believe that the girl could be trusted and, until then, she would have to work for his favour.

Nan Saville had finished dressing Anne's hair so Henry bent down to kiss the top of his wife's head, taking care not to ruffle her hair. "Are you ready, sweetheart?" He asked tenderly, offering her his arm. Anne nodded, taking his arm and allowing him to lead her towards the door, where they would lead the procession.

At Elizabeth's instruction, Harry abandoned his game with Beau, standing and allowing Lady Bryan to brush the wrinkles out of his suit. Once his governess was satisfied that he was tidy, he and Elizabeth took their places behind their parents in the procession, with Harry mimicking his father and offering his sister his arm, feeling delighted to be doing something so grown-up. Their governesses would walk behind them and, after them, the ladies of Anne's household and the gentlemen of Henry's.

Mary had not expected to be allowed to take a prominent place in the procession but, even so, it hurt to have to walk near the back, paired with Kitty Howard.

Kitty was, of course, almost dancing with excitement. Even over a year at court had not dampened either the novelty of court celebrations or her devotion to Anne. Aside from Lady Mary Stafford and, of course, Beau, Kitty was probably the most devoted member of Anne's household, practically worshipping her cousin.

Mary had not been at court very often once her father's Great Matter began, as he preferred to leave her at Ludlow Castle, despite her mother's pleas for her to be brought to see them, but she had heard many stories of her mother's courage during those difficult, trying years, when her husband made no secret of the fact that he did not consider her to be his wife and intended to replace her with another lady. Mary's father made no secret of the fact that he viewed Anne as his future Queen and wanted to have her at his side at all times but, while her mother viewed it as her duty to obey her husband in all matters not touching her conscience, that duty did not extend to allowing it to appear as though she was not his wife or his Queen.

She would never have yielded precedence to Anne or dreamed of staying away while the other woman sat in her place at the table during official banquets or holidays and, much as it irritated him, the King had never tried to prevent her from doing this, though he made it plain to her that she was unwelcome and that he did not wish for her company.

Katherine of Aragon was Queen of England and, until the day she died, she did all in her power to ensure that her title was not taken from her.

Mary could imagine how outraged her father would be if she were to scorn the place in the procession that had been decreed for her, instead pushing ahead of Harry and Elizabeth and shoving Anne out of the way. If she tried, she would earn nothing more than a trip to the Tower for her pains... even so, the thought was amusing enough to ensure that she had a smile on her face as she walked from Anne's apartment to the chapel and when she took her place in the pew with the other ladies, waiting for Archbishop Cranmer to begin the service.

* * *

**_25th December 1540_ **

Lady Bryan had told him that he could buy whatever gifts he liked to give to people for Christmas. Lots of people came to Hatfield, bringing all kinds of wonderful things for Harry to look at so that he could decide which gifts would be perfect for his family and his servants, and Lady Bryan had plenty of money for Harry to spend, on whatever he liked.

Kat had money for Lilibet too, and his sister also came with him to the Hall, where the people had set out their wares for them to inspect, but she was also _making_ her own gifts for their Mama and Papa, special gifts that she had made all by herself and that she would give them with the gifts she bought for them. She had embroidered a beautiful cushion for Mama to use in her rooms, and for Papa, she had embroidered a pair of gloves. She had even sewn a shirt for Harry.

He couldn't embroider, so he couldn't make special gifts for his parents and his sister, something that made him feel a little bit disappointed. When he was bigger, he would be able to make presents for his Mama and Papa but, until then, he bought them. He had a pretty bracelet for his Mama, made of gold and pearls and diamonds, and for his Papa he had chosen a gold cup that he thought would look very fine on the table when Papa ate at banquets.

"It's very fine, my son." His Papa told him when a page carried his gifts into the throne room, where he and Lilibet would present their gifts first, before any of the nobles of the court got to give their gifts, after which they would take their places by their parents' sides. "Thank you."

"It's beautiful, darling." His Mama told him once he showed her her bracelet, rising from her throne and kneeling down in front of him to kiss his cheek. "You are such a good boy."

Harry leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "I didn't make it myself, Mama." He confessed, not wanting to trick her. It was very important for him to always tell the truth, especially to his Mama.

"I know." She assured him, taking him by the hand and leading him to his throne. "But it's still very beautiful, and I love it."

Satisfied that his gifts had been a success, Harry's smile was broad when he took his seat. Later, when he was back in the nursery, he would give his gifts to Lilibet and Annie and Kat and Lady Bryan and the others and his Mama and Papa would come to give him his Christmas gifts from them but, for this ceremony, the gifts were only for the King and Queen... or so he thought.

When Lilibet was finished presenting her gifts to Mama and Papa and sat down on her throne, Jean du Bellay, the Bishop of Bayenne, who was King Francis' ambassador in England, asked if he could present gifts.

"My master commanded that I present Your Majesties with these gifts, to demonstrate his great love for the King of England, his brother, and to his most beautiful and gracious Queen." He announced with a deep bow, smiling at them.

Harry decided that he liked the Bishop of Bayenne very much, and King Francis too. Anybody who said such nice things about his Mama had to be very good and very nice.

Papa gave permission and the Bishop of Bayenne motioned for his servant to come forward with his gifts. There was a fine jewelled collar for Papa and for Mama there was a necklace made of sparkling diamonds and a book that the Bishop of Bayenne said was written by King Francis' own sister, Queen Marguerite of Navarre. Once they had said 'Thank you', Bellay begged to be allowed to present two more gifts.

"His Majesty King Francis wished to send a token of his affection for his beloved godson, the Prince of Wales." Bellay explained, bowing again.

"I think that we can allow that." Henry agreed gravely, smiling at the way Harry perked up at the prospect of an unexpected gift.

The little boy's eyes became as wide as saucers when, at Bellay's signal, a liveried servant carried in a long wooden box and opened it to reveal a bow, just the right size for a boy of four and a half, along with a quiver of arrows.

If Harry's squeak of delight and his enthusiastic thanks were any indication, the gift pleased him.

Bellay turned to Elizabeth next, bowing to her. "The King's son, the Duke of Orleans, also begs his dearest betrothed, the Princess Elizabeth, to accept this token of his esteem." He told her, passing a jewellery box into her hands. "It is the fleur-de-lis." He explained, watching her take out the jewelled pendant and examine it. "A gift for the future Duchess of Orleans."

"Please thank His Highness for his beautiful gift." Elizabeth said, with the gravity of a grown woman. She had not chosen a gift for the Duke of Orleans, the idea had not occurred to her, even though she knew that they were to be married in five years, but she was not worried. She was sure that her parents would have bought a gift to send to her future husband on her behalf – and perhaps her gift had come from the King of France, rather than from his son.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Lady Mary watching her, her gaze fixed to the pendant in Elizabeth's hands and, although Mary was not frowning, Elizabeth could tell that she wasn't happy about the gift. For some reason, it made her unhappy to see it.

Nobody would ever tell her much about the Lady Mary. Even Kat, who could usually be coaxed into sharing gossip about the court and about the people who lived at Hatfield, always insisted that she could not speak to Elizabeth about Mary. She knew that Mary was her half-sister, her Papa's daughter by another woman and she knew that, although Mary used to say that she was a Princess – before she came to her senses and learned her place, Lady Bryan had said once – she wasn't truly entitled to that title but she didn't know much else about her, apart from the fact that she had once done a very, very wicked thing to Elizabeth's Mama.

Looking at the Lady Mary now, Elizabeth wondered whether her half-sister had been telling the truth when she said that she understood that she was not really a princess and that it was very naughty for her to have lied and said that she was.

Maybe Mary still thought that she was a princess and, if she thought that, she must think that she was more important than Elizabeth, as she was older. Maybe Mary thought that she should be the one betrothed to a French prince, not Elizabeth, and she was jealous about the fact that he was sending a gift to Elizabeth, who would be the Duchess of Orleans when she was a grown lady, and not to her, who would only ever be known as Lady Mary.

Something about the way Mary looked, standing there, made Elizabeth feel like shivering, even though the room was warm.

Her Mama might think that they were safe and that Mary would never hurt them but Elizabeth was sure that, even if Mary wouldn't hurt them, she still disliked them, or at least Mama.

They shouldn't trust her too readily.

* * *

Every year, a Lord of Misrule was appointed for the Christmas festivities and it was his job to come up with special games to entertain the court after the feasting was over, bestirring them when they felt lazy after their meal. There would be masques too, of course, and there was always gambling and card games but every year, the Lord of Misrule was responsible for coming up with other games as well, to ensure that everybody was merry at Christmas time. Aside from the royal family, the Lord of Misrule was one of the most important people during the festivities.

Kitty had hoped that her brother, Charles, would be appointed. He was funny and she could remember that when they were children, her brother had always had a gift for devising remarkable games to keep their large family of brothers and sisters happily entertained, even though they were so poor in those days and had had very few toys to play with. However, Charles was more realistic than she was and he believed that the honour would be bestowed on somebody else, somebody of higher status than he, a mere gentleman in the Duke of Norfolk's retinue.

He was proven correct when Sir Thomas Wyatt was given the position instead.

The Lady Mary had snorted in derision when Wyatt entered the Great Hall, clad in a fantastic costume like that of a jester, resplendent in red, green and gold with tiny bells sewn to his garments and jingling as he moved, and began to circulate through the Hall, asking various courtiers to answer riddles and demanding a forfeit when they could not guess the answer. She frowned deeply and muttered something under her breath about how Anne might have wed a jester instead of a King, which was something that Kitty found odd but there was much about the Lady Mary that she found odd, so she was not unduly troubled by it, though she mentioned it to Charles in passing when she sat down at the table with him in the Great Hall for the feast.

Ordinarily, she was expected to sit and eat with the other ladies of Anne's household, as it would not be seemly for an unmarried young girl to sit with the gentlemen without a chaperone present, even when one of those gentlemen was her own brother but, on feast days, more licence was allowed and Kitty was more than willing to take advantage of this. She saw little enough of her brother on ordinary days, even though Queen Anne allowed her attendants plenty of leisure time and would never have objected to Kitty spending time with her brother. Their uncle was not as kind a master as Queen Anne was a mistress and he kept Charles busy with duties in his service, leaving him little time for other pastimes.

"Lady Mary is probably thinking about the rumours about Queen Anne and Thomas Wyatt," Charles remarked when she mentioned the Lady Mary's reaction to Wyatt. Seeing Kitty's quizzical stare, he chuckled in fond exasperation. "Don't you pay attention to any of what you hear about the court?" He demanded in a hushed voice. "There are still some who mention it now, if they are very brave," he added, knowing that the King would be furious with anybody he perceived as having slandered his beloved wife. "And you must have heard about it back then, when you lived with the Dowager Duchess." If there was one thing their step-grandmother could be relied upon for, it was that she would always be up to date about court gossip, particularly when it related to the family.

"What did they say?" Kitty asked, feeling more affronted by the thought that people were spreading ugly rumours about the Queen than she would have if those rumours were about herself. God knew that there were things in her history that she had cause to feel embarrassed about now, and that would ruin her if anybody at court ever heard of them but Anne had only ever loved the King and wanted to marry him, refusing to be his mistress. Some people blamed her for the fact that Lady Katherine had to stop being Queen but, if the marriage was invalid, then she was never Queen in the first place and Kitty couldn't see how that could be Anne's fault.

While Charles was right that there was a great deal of gossip in the Dowager Duchess' household, the old lady had also made it clear to her household that nobody was to dare to slander Anne, so the most unpleasant rumours were never spoken of under the roof of Lambeth.

Charles lowered his voice to a whisper, not wanting to be overheard but unable to resist the urge to share so intriguing a story with his sister. "It was said that the Queen was engaged to Wyatt," he confided in her, holding a finger to his lips to indicate that this was something that should not be repeated. Had Anne been betrothed to Wyatt, then some people might say that their betrothal was binding, which would mean that her marriage to the King was null and void and the two royal children were bastards. Something similar had happened after the death of the fourth King Edward, whose brother had claimed that his nephews were bastards and ineligible to succeed and the King would be furious if anybody suggested that his children by Anne were in the same position.

People could be executed for treason for repeating such things around unfriendly ears.

"That's not true." Kitty stated flatly. "Queen Anne would _never_ marry the King if she was betrothed to another man." There was no doubt in her mind about this.

"There's more," Charles continued. "I heard that the Duke of Suffolk once said that they were _lovers_."

"How dare he say such a thing?" Kitty demanded angrily, wishing that the Duke of Suffolk was there so that she could slap him for daring to tell such a wicked lie about her cousin. "Lady Mary should know better than to believe such horrible stories about Queen Anne."

"Yes, she should." Charles agreed hastily, hoping to pacify her. He glanced around them, fearful that Kitty's exclamation could have attracted unwelcome attention and knowing that he would receive a sharp reprimand from his Uncle Norfolk if he found out that he had been gossiping about the Queen like that. He could even find himself dismissed in disgrace, banished from the court where he might have had a chance to make his fortune and sent to the country instead, where he would have no future. "I'm sure they're just lies, as you said."

"They are." Kitty insisted.

"I know," Charles said, anxious to change the subject. He should have known better than to mention something like that around his sister, who was devoted to their cousin. He combed the Great Hall with his eyes, searching for something that would distract her and, when he spotted two men sitting together at a nearby table, he smiled and nudged Kitty. "Do you know who they are?" He asked in a hushed tone. She followed his gaze, studying their faces briefly before shaking her head. "They are the Seymours."

"Who?"

"Uncle Norfolk told me about them," Charles explained. "They are Edward and Thomas Seymour, the sons of Sir John Seymour. Their sister Jane was once the King's mistress – and Uncle told me that they once dared to think that they would be able to get the King to make her Queen instead of Anne." His voice was low but full of scorn as he looked across at them. One of them, the older and more serious-looking of the two, caught his eye but looked away, as though he knew that Charles was speaking about him and felt embarrassed about it. "Years ago, before Prince Harry was born, they thought that if they could use their sister as bait, she would be able to win the King's love and he would set Queen Anne aside and marry her."

"They're stupid." Kitty stated flatly. She could see for herself how much the King loved the Queen, all of Anne's ladies could. He slept in her bed every night, they had breakfast together every morning and they were always riding or playing music or dancing together. The Seymour family must have been fools if they thought that they could come between such a loving couple.

Charles nodded agreement, leaning close to her ear. "But that's not everything; before the King sent Mistress Seymour away, he sired a bastard on her, a son."

"I never heard of the King having a son other than Prince Harry – except for the little Duke of Richmond, of course." Her step-grandmother had mentioned Henry Fitzroy in passing but Kitty knew that the little boy was born and had died before the King ever married Anne, so he could not be the child that Jane Seymour had borne.

"You wouldn't have, hardly anybody ever talks about him. His Majesty prefers it that way." Charles explained. "He acknowledged the child but he didn't want it brought to court or permitted to be brought up with the Prince and the Princess, since he's just a bastard. The boy lives in the country, with the Seymours and Uncle says that the King never speaks of him and never goes to visit him, as he doesn't want to hurt Queen Anne by making a big fuss over the child."

"He loves her." Kitty said. Although she did not like to think that the King could have hurt Anne by taking a mistress and siring a child on her, she thought that it was good for him to make sure that he did not pour salt in Anne's wounds by fussing over his son by another woman and bringing him to court, where she would have to receive him.

At least this way, Anne might be able to forget that the child existed.

"Yes." Charles agreed but, before he could say anything else, Thomas Wyatt's musical voice cut through the din of the Great Hall.

"A forfeit, my Lord Prince!" He announced in ringing tones, telling everybody that the little Prince of Wales had answered his riddle incorrectly and must therefore pay a forfeit for his mistake.

Harry was inclined to feel embarrassed when he guessed incorrectly but when his Mama reproved the Lord of Misrule, telling him that the riddle was a very difficult one for a child, he felt better and smiled to show her that he wasn't cross or upset about it. If it was a riddle for people who were a lot older than he was, then he didn't need to be embarrassed about not guessing it. "It's alright, Mama." He told her before turning his sunny smile on the Lord of Misrule. "What must I do?"

The Lord of Misrule scratched his chin for a moment, thinking carefully about Harry's forfeit. "Can you count to five, my Lord Prince?" He asked gravely.

"Of course!" Harry felt rather indignant. He was a big boy now, halfway between four and five, and he could count much higher than five. He could count all the way up to a hundred, and more.

"Good. Then your forfeit is to pick out the five most beautiful ladies in the Hall, and give them all a kiss." The Lord of Misrule explained to him. Harry's Papa chuckled when he heard the forfeit, clapping his hands a little. "Can you do that?"

"Yes." Harry nodded solemnly, slipping down from his chair and getting ready to look around the Great Hall to find the five loveliest ladies and give them a kiss but, before he stepped down from the platform, he turned back to the Lord of Misrule for clarification. "Should I start with the very prettiest of all or finish with her?" He asked, wanting to do it right.

"Finish with the most beautiful, I think." The Lord of Misrule instructed him, grinning at him as he stepped down from the platform and watching him begin to walk among the courtiers.

Almost all of the courtiers smiled at Harry as he walked down between the tables, scanning the faces of the ladies to decide which ones were the prettiest. He noticed that two men sitting at one of the tables were frowning but he ignored them, concentrating on the ladies.

He spotted Madge Shelton, his Mama's cousin, and he ran over to her. She laughed, bending down so that he could kiss her cheek, and ruffling his hair when he did. He didn't know the name of the next lady he kissed but she was young and very pretty, with red hair, and she smiled very kindly at him when he asked if he might be allowed to kiss her, telling him that she would be honoured.

The Duchess of Suffolk was there, even though the Duke was away on a mission for Harry's Papa and couldn't be there. She was quite pretty but, as Harry did not think that she was one of the five prettiest ladies in the Hall, he passed her by without kissing her. He could see the Lady Mary standing behind his Mama, ready in case she needed anything but, even though she was pretty, Harry wasn't going to kiss her because he didn't like her.

He went to Kitty Howard instead, bowing a little. "May I kiss you, cousin Kitty?" He asked gravely.

Charles nudged his sister, grinning. "Third prettiest isn't bad, is it, sister?"

"No," Kitty returned his smile, even though she would have preferred to be singled out as the very prettiest. She looked down at Harry. "You may kiss me, Your Highness." She told him, bending down so that the little boy could kiss her cheek.

"Thank you." Harry kissed Kitty's cheek. He didn't need to look around to pick out the last two, he already knew. He ran back towards the platform on which the top table was set, putting her arms around Elizabeth's neck and giving her a smacking kiss, and then he climbed onto his Mama's lap to kiss her. "Because you're the most beautiful lady in all the world." He told her gravely.

"He has exquisite taste in women, don't you think, my love?" Henry remarked genially, reaching over to ruffle his son's hair. "If he wasn't our son, I would be a very jealous man."

"But you're very handsome too, Papa." Harry assured his father, misinterpreting his comment about being jealous and thinking that he might need that reassurance.

"Very handsome." Anne agreed with a smile, settling Harry into a more comfortable position in her lap. At four and a half, he was getting big and was already a tall boy for his age. It would not be long now before he was too heavy for her to be able to hold him comfortably.

"Well done, my Lord Prince." The Lord of Misrule congratulated Harry, bowing to Anne. "And my congratulations to Your Majesty as well." He said, before turning his attention to the next person to be asked a riddle, giving Elizabeth a smile. "My Lady Princess..."

* * *

Once the feast was over and the Lord of Misrule had finished asking his riddles, a group of jesters took over, performing tumbling tricks for the entertainment of the court. Anne dismissed Mary when they began, telling her that she would not require her service any more that night and that she could join the other courtiers at the tables.

Mary was only too glad to take advantage of the opportunity to leave the platform.

Having to stand there for the duration of the meal, alert to Anne's every need and ready to supply her with whatever she required, was difficult for her. It hurt her dignity to have to stand there like a servant, with nothing to do but wait for Anne to ask for more wine or for a napkin or for a finger bowl or for some such trivial thing, knowing that everybody in the Hall, courtier and commoner alike, was watching her, watching the rightful Princess of Wales wait on the Marquess of Pembroke, a woman born the daughter of a commoner.

Had she had a choice, she would not have done it.

Had she had a choice, she would have refused to serve Anne, insisting that she was the Princess of Wales and that Anne should be the one waiting on her, not the other way around.

But she had no choice, not really.

She could have refused to attend Anne but then all she would earn would be her father's anger. He would not respect her for holding to what she knew to be the truth, he would not understand and he would not even feel proud of the fact that he had a daughter who was willing to hold to the truth, regardless of the cost. He would view her defiance as insulting, even as a threat to himself, and she would pay for it.

Waiting on Anne was the only safe choice for her to make.

When she began to walk down into the Hall, she noticed that very few of the courtiers were willing to meet her gaze, something that was not uncommon. Her status was still too uncertain for them to wish to cultivate her friendship or to hope to benefit from it. Had her father released her from service in Anne's household, giving her a lavish apartment and a household of her own, making it clear that he loved her as his daughter and expected her to be honoured as such, there would be many who would want to seek her friendship and support, in the hopes that she might be able to influence her father on their behalf but, as Anne's lady-in-waiting, one of many, her friendship was not considered valuable.

The Duchess of Suffolk smiled at her as she passed, wishing her a merry Christmas. Mary was ready to take a seat at the table next to her but she caught sight of the Seymour men and approached their table, smiling when both men hastily rose and bowed to her.

At least they did not forget the respect she was due and she suspected that, if they were given the choice, they would rather be acknowledging her as a Princess rather than Elizabeth.

"Merry Christmas, my Lady Mary." Thomas Seymour said, giving her a smile.

"And to you, gentlemen." She responded graciously. "How is my brother?" She asked, her query eliciting a gasp of astonishment from anybody close enough to hear her. Referring to little Edward Fitzroy was a taboo at court but it was one that Mary was willing to break. The little boy was her father's son, after all, and if he was illegitimate, Elizabeth and Harry were too. She acknowledged them as her sister and brother, and she would acknowledge Edward too.

Why should one of her father's bastards be ignored by him and never mentioned at court when another had been created Duke of Richmond and of Somerset when he was just a toddler, honoured as the first peer of the realm, and when another two were honoured as the Prince of Wales and Princess of England, given the first places in the line of succession?

Since her father was willing to brand his only child born within wedlock a bastard and disinherit her, legitimacy must not mean much to him.

Of all her father's children, little Edward was the only one that Mary would have said was worse off than she was. At least she was received at court, even if it was in her capacity as lady-in-waiting, instead of being left isolated in the country, cut off from her father. Her father might refuse to acknowledge her legitimacy or to restore her to the succession but at least he spoke to her and she believed that, even if his treatment towards her was cold, in his heart he still loved her as his daughter. He never bothered to see Edward, too afraid of offending Anne to open his heart to his son and Mary felt indignant on her youngest half-brother's behalf.

"He is well, my lady." Edward Seymour responded, glancing worriedly in the direction of the top table as he spoke.

Mary turned slightly, looking back at her father. She could tell from the expression on his face that he was displeased to see her speaking to the Seymours. He could probably guess who she was asking about and he was plainly angry to think that she would inquire about the child, indicating that she considered him to be a member of the family.

It was not wise for her to continue to court her father's displeasure so she stepped away from the Seymours, excusing herself and moving away from them. She frowned when she saw some of the courtiers averting their eyes as she approached, as though they feared that she might try to speak to them or sit with them if they gave her an opening.

She was surrounded by people but she felt alone, like an outcast in the court that should have been her home.

She felt somebody lay a hand on her shoulder and she jumped, even though the touch was a light one. She whirled around to see Kitty Howard standing behind her, a friendly smile on her face.

"Come and sit with us, Lady Mary," she invited. Without waiting for Mary to respond, one way or another, she began to tug her towards the table where she was sitting, all but pushing her down to sit on the bench in the space that was hastily cleared for her. Once Mary was seated, she passed her a full goblet of wine and made the introductions. "I don't know if you have met my brother yet, Lady Mary, he's so busy most of the time. This is Charles."

Charles rose hastily, bowing low. "It's an honour and a pleasure, my lady." He said politely, giving her his widest, most charming smile.

Mary returned his smile, sensing that it was genuine. "The pleasure is mine, Master Howard."


	31. Chapter Thirty

**_15th January 1541_ **

There were times that Edward Seymour fervently wished that he could restrict his sister's visits.

Family duty had not allowed him to refuse or even ignore Jane's unsubtle hints that she and her husband, along with Sir William's three children, should spend Christmas at Wolf Hall. Despite his misgivings, he was obliged to invite them to stay, and unable to hint that it would be best if they left when Jane wanted to stay longer after Twelfth Night – had it not been for Sir William's business affairs on his estate, he might never have been rid of them! – and now he was seeing the results of the extended visit in terms of the impact it had on his young nephew, while Jane and Sir William were safely away in their own home and did not have to deal with the results of their visit.

Little Edward was usually a biddable child, one who obeyed his guardians and nursemaids as readily as any child of his age could be expected to and who did not give himself airs because of his royal status, something that his uncle was pleased to see as he knew that adulation could easily make a boy in his position proud and unwilling to obey his guardians, deeming them to be below him in rank. Although he was of royal blood, Edward's status was so uncertain that it would not be wise for him to be too proud, for fear that he would alienate his father or make his half-siblings suspect that he harboured ambitions to sit on the throne. However, like most small boys, he adored his mother and he had delighted in her visit, especially as she had brought his stepbrother and stepsisters as playmates for him, and now that Jane and her family were gone, Edward was quiet and withdrawn, even inclined to be tearful, though he did his best to be brave and to control his tears, as was expected of him.

Jane never seemed to think of the impact it had on her little son when she visited so frequently and stayed for so long, never thinking of what her brother had to deal with once she was gone, leaving an unhappy child behind. Edward knew that if he tried to curtail her visits, or even to restrict her access to little Edward while she was at Wolf Hall, in the hopes of minimizing the damage she caused, she would be capable of sending a letter of complaint to the King, asking him to intercede on her behalf, something that would do the Seymour family no good. The King certainly did not want to hear from Jane and there was a risk that if she pestered him, he would not receive any messages that Edward might send in the future.

In a way, Edward regretted that the secretary charged with seeing to young Edward's welfare and to the upkeep of his little household was as diligent and as conscientious in his duty as Master Cromwell was before him, keeping regular contact and responding to any requests promptly, ensuring that all of Edward's needs were met.

It was not that he wished to be obliged to fund little Edward's personal expenses, along with the wages of his servants from his already limited purse but it would have given him a pretext to write to the King, drawing his attention to his son and to the fact that Edward was caring for him, hopefully incurring royal gratitude and favour for doing so as, even if the King did not visit his son, he would be pleased to know that he was safe and happy. However, little Edward's allowance continued to be paid at regular intervals and his servants' wages were never in arrears, so there had been no excuse for Edward to take the step of contacting the King... until now, at any rate.

Little Edward would be four next month, of an age to begin his elementary lessons but, so far, no tutor or governess had been sent to take charge of the little boy's education, and nobody had contacted Edward to make arrangements to send money so that he might engage somebody himself. It seemed to have escaped their notice, at least temporarily, that the child was now old enough to begin his lessons and that arrangements would have to be made.

He did not doubt that, if he was patient, the omission would soon be rectified without him needing to contact the King about the issue but he was not prepared to give up this chance.

He had a sound excuse for writing to the King on little Edward's behalf and he would not waste it.

He spent a great deal of time over the letter, writing several drafts before he was satisfied with it. He was writing as a subject to his King but, at the same time, he was also an uncle writing to his nephew's father about the child's welfare, so it was important for him to balance the formalities due to the King's exalted rank with the more personal touch that would, he hoped, encourage the King to take an interest in his son. Even if he had not been especially interested during Edward's infancy, when the boy was so young that he could do little to amuse or impress his father, little Edward was older now, growing into a fine boy. Once the King saw his son, he would want to know him better, to spend time with him and to honour him.

Edward took especial care to stress what a clever boy he was, and how keen he was to begin to learn so that he might prove to be a credit to his royal father, a son that he could be proud of.

The King would not leave his son without the means to be well educated, that was a given fact, but Edward wasn't sure how he would prefer the King to respond to his letter.

As little Edward was still too young to be sent away to a school – and Edward thought that the last thing he would want was for the King to decide that this was how his son was to be educated, he might even direct that he should be sent to one of the schools that the Queen acted as patroness too, a school where he would mix with the sons of commoners as well as the sons of gentlemen – the King was likely to make arrangements for him to have a tutor of his own but there was also the chance that he might go a step better for him.

Edward had heard through the court grapevine, and through a couple of acquaintances there who were willing to speak to him rather than shunning him as many others had once it became known that he was uncle to the King's bastard, that plans for the royal children to have a new, larger establishment were well underway, and children were already being handpicked by the King and Queen to act as companions to the Prince of Wales and Princess Elizabeth, children who would have all the advantages of being brought up in the royal nursery and taught by the royal tutors.

The royal children's tutors were being chosen from among the finest scholars in England and Europe and the children under their tutelage would have the advantage of an excellent education.

Why shouldn't Edward, as half-brother to the Prince and Princess, be one of the fortunate children?

If he spoke to his wife about the matter, he was certain that Anne would think it preferable if Edward remained at Wolf Hall, under their care, with a tutor sent to oversee his education, a tutor who would be able to teach their children as well, when the time came, saving them the expense of engaging a suitable instructor themselves, but Edward thought that it was short-sighted of her to take such a view of the situation, valuing temporary expedience over long term advantage.

While it might save them some money if their children were able to share little Edward's tutor, and while they would feel the loss of the income they were supplied with for the child's needs, an income that was certain to be withdrawn if they no longer had custody of the child, in the long term, they would benefit far more if the King took a more personal interest in his son's welfare, bringing the child to his half-siblings' household to share their royal upbringing.

If young Edward came to be favoured by his father, then when he was older, he would be in a position to act as patron to his cousins, even his uncles, securing them positions at court and enriching the whole family. If he could secure the King's favour, then the King was likely to want to reward the family who had raised and nurtured his son, and the Seymours could benefit greatly from royal gifts and favour.

He was a clever, winning child and, if the King was willing to allow himself to care for his son and to think fondly of him, Edward was certain that his nephew would be able to win his father over and secure his favour.

Edward considered that such a chance would be worth the wages of a tutor.

* * *

**_17th January 1541_ **

"The renovations at Eltham are nearly completed, so the children should be able to move there by the middle of next month." Henry said, sharing a smile with Anne at the news.

Eltham Palace was where Henry had spent much of his childhood, sharing a household with his sister, under the doting care of his nurse, Mistress Luke, and later his tutors – the second-best tutors, of course; the best of them were singled out and sent to teach Arthur at his establishment, something that had disgusted Henry when he was young, as he knew, even when he was a little boy, that he was cleverer than his brother and that, given the chance, he would easily outshine him. However, although the palace had made a pleasant dwelling for Henry during his childhood, he regarded it as rather old-fashioned and not as luxurious as it should be, so it had required substantial refurbishment before it was ready to house their children.

The renovations were complete now, with opulent royal apartments constructed for both children, as well as others that would be suitable for the King and Queen if Henry and Anne visited Eltham, the gardens were extended and the fortifications improved so that Elizabeth and Harry would be safe and happy at the palace which was to be their home, until Elizabeth was old enough to be married and leave England for France, and until Harry was old enough to be given an establishment at Ludlow Castle, where he could govern the principality as Prince of Wales.

Both Henry and Anne were especially pleased by the fact that Eltham was nearer to London than Hatfield was, enabling them to visit their children more frequently and for Elizabeth and Harry to come to court more often than they had until now. The children were growing older now, and it was right that they should visit the court more frequently, showing themselves to the people.

Both children were already well-loved by the people and that was something to be cultivated.

"I'll let Brandon know, and Lord Lisle." Henry continued.

Since the Duchess of Suffolk first announced her pregnancy, not long after Harry was born, Henry had decided that the child she carried, the child of his dear friend, would have the honour of becoming a companion to Harry if it was a boy and, as she had produced both a son and a daughter, it seemed fitting that young Lord Henry should become Harry's companion, while Lady Catherine joined Elizabeth's household. It would have been unkind to separate twins and, as little Lady Catherine was the daughter of his friend, she should be granted one of the coveted places as Elizabeth's companion.

John Dudley, though a new face among Henry's councillors, had already proven to be a very intelligent and able servant and, more importantly, one who wholeheartedly accepted Anne as Queen and the children as legitimate heirs, and who was devoted to the new religion. Henry had elevated him as Viscount Lisle in recognition of his services and, as he was the father of a thriving family of children, three of them were singled out to join the royal children in their household, two of the boys and a girl Elizabeth's age.

Henry could imagine how elated Dudley must be by the honour, an honour that any courtier with a child of the right age was vying for, hoping to secure a great education for their offspring, along with a favoured place in the households of the royal children.

When the time came for Elizabeth to travel to France to wed the Duke of Orleans, the girls who were her schoolroom companions would almost certainly be among those honoured with posts as her ladies-in-waiting, and the boys who shared Harry's lessons could find themselves numbered among his closest companions and advisors in years to come, both when the time came for him to take over the governing of Wales, and when he became King. Friendships formed with royal children during their early years could become very valuable when the children were grown.

Annie Stafford would retain her place in the royal nursery – Henry imagined that both of his children would be quick to protest if he even hinted at their cousin's removal, as they were both very fond of her and enjoyed her companionship – and, as niece to the Queen, he intended to see to it that she was treated with special honour by the members of the children's household, even if her rank was not as high as the ranks of some of the others children. He would not have any of the children's new companions giving themselves airs at Annie's expense, not unless they wished to be sent home as quickly as their belongings could be packed.

"It will be good for them to have more children their own age to play with." Anne agreed, thinking that, aside from Annie, Elizabeth and Harry very rarely had contact with other children. Even when they came to court, it was rare that any courtiers brought children as young as they were to court. Care had to be taken to ensure that they would not mix with children who were unsuitable companions, of course, as nobody wanted them to pick up bad habits and manners, but she didn't want their childhoods to be lonely. Their governesses and attendants were devoted to them but they were no substitute for playmates their own age. "And it will be wonderful to have them closer to us." She added wistfully, remembering the parting after the Christmas revels were over.

Elizabeth had done her best to be brave, curtseying gracefully before kissing her mother farewell, but Harry decided against following his sister's example and clung to Anne, weeping and asking her if he could stay at court with her for longer, instead of having to return to Hatfield. Lady Bryan had had a difficult time persuading him to come with her and even Anne's promise that he would soon be leaving Hatfield to live at a grander palace, where she would be able to see him more often, was scant consolation to the small boy.

Anne was hard-pressed not to cry in front of her children, and she had shed tears over the parting in the privacy of her apartment.

"I know, sweetheart." Henry agreed, patting her hand lightly.

The morning's meeting with the Privy Council was over but these matters were family affairs and, as such, he preferred to retire to his own apartments with Anne in order to discuss them privately. He could imagine that his father, who had never allowed his wife to play a part in affairs of state, never even thinking to ask her opinion, much less to be guided by it, would strongly disapprove of the licence that Anne had to speak her mind on such issues, and of the fact that Henry openly sought her opinion, but he didn't care about that.

His father was gone, so Henry wasn't concerned with a dead man's opinions.

Anne had one of the shrewdest minds he had ever encountered and it would be foolish of him to ignore her counsel because of her sex. As well as that, should she be called upon to act as Regent of the kingdom, either during his absence or – God forbid! – if he should die before their son reached manhood, it was important for her to be prepared for the responsibility that she might have to shoulder and for the nobles of the court to see that she had the potential to be a very capable ruler, should there be a need, and that they need have no fears for England under her government. It was vital that they know that she deserved their support and respect, so that none of them would try to usurp her role as Regent, thinking her unfit to hold it.

If the members of his Privy Council were displeased to see him invite Anne to their meetings, that was their problem, not his and certainly not Anne's.

"The Emperor has renewed his urging for an alliance with us," Henry said, skimming through the dispatch delivered to him by Ambassador Mendoza. "And he is repeating his suggestion that a marriage should be arranged between Harry and his younger daughter, the Infanta Juana." His tone was one of mingled pleasure and scepticism as he read the letter and, when he looked up at Anne, he could see that she too was unsure how they ought to respond to the proposal.

If the Emperor was genuine, the match was a good one.

The little Infanta was five now, a little under a year Harry's senior. When Harry turned fourteen and was of an age to take a wife, she would be fifteen, a perfect age for marriage, ripe to become a wife and a mother. Henry's ambassador in the Imperial court had seen the child and confirmed that she was a pretty little thing, with no hint of the Hapsburg chin, a trait that Henry would never have wanted to see his grandson inherit, and that she was also a bright, witty child who showed no trace of her paternal grandmother's madness. All in all, she seemed to be quite suitable.

A part of Henry would have liked to snub the Emperor, after all the trouble he had caused, by making another match for Harry, publicly spurning a Spanish princess the way the Emperor had once snubbed England's Queen and making it plain to him that he was not as desperate for an alliance with him as the Emperor might like to think he was, but there were few princesses in Europe as suitable as the Infanta, so that could be very unwise.

Francis' youngest daughter, Margaret, was thirteen years older than Harry and, as yet, he had no granddaughters. His niece, Jeanne, was eight years older but the girl was already promised.

In any case, Francis had already signalled that he acknowledged Henry's marriage to Anne to be a true, valid union and their children as legitimate when he agreed to the betrothal between Elizabeth and his younger son, and Henry had the marriage contracts to prove it, in case Francis ever attempted to play him false and deny Elizabeth and Harry's legitimacy. If the Emperor was prepared to allow his daughter to be formally pledged as Harry's future bride, then he too would be showing Europe that he accepted the marriage as a true one and, as Katherine's nephew and the Lady Mary's cousin, the signal was even more valuable coming from him, a sign that he truly accepted that Katherine was never Henry's wife… if he was prepared to go through with it.

The Emperor had played him false before and Henry knew better than to trust him too readily now.

He could not shake the fear that the younger monarch, the man who had once claimed to be delighted to call Henry his uncle, was merely waiting for him to send envoys to Spain to discuss the prospective match so that he could make a public declaration that he could not give his consent to a match between his daughter and Harry because he did not consider Harry legitimate, pretending that Henry was the one who had offered a suit for the Infanta Juana's hand instead of him being the one to make enquiries about the possibility of the marriage.

If the Emperor was sincere, then the match would be a triumph for Henry and Anne but if he did not truly have any intention of allowing the betrothal, it would be a great humiliation for them and for Harry if their son was publicly rejected and slandered as a bastard, reviving the old issues that they had worked so hard to put to rest.

Could they take the chance?

"Do you think that he means it?" Anne asked quietly, as aware of the implications as he was. For her, it was a pleasant triumph the first time Ambassador Mendoza came to present his credentials to her, as he had once presented them to Katherine, to see the representative of Katherine's nephew bowing low in front of her and according her every courtesy due to her as England's Queen, instead of avoiding her whenever it was humanly possible for him to manage it, as Chapuys used to, and snubbing her when he thought that he could get away with doing so.

She was not unaware of the possibility that, if the Emperor decided that it was no longer in his interests to ally with England, Mendoza could receive instructions to cease to accord her the honours of a Queen and instead to refuse to acknowledge her as such, renewing his insistence that the Emperor's aunt was the true Queen of England while she lived, and that the Lady Mary was Henry's rightful heiress and that Henry was now a widower, and would have no Queen unless he took another wife. While she could deal with it if they insulted her – it certainly was not a new experience for her to be insulted by Spaniards, after all – she would never allow them to slander her children as bastards, not without redress.

"I don't know." Henry responded honestly. He could have feigned confidence, to reassure Anne that their children's positions were unquestioned, but it wouldn't be fair to lie to her. "It's probably the best match we're going to find for Harry." He pointed out logically. "And with Elizabeth marrying the Duke of Orleans, I think it's a good idea to match Harry elsewhere, for balance."

By marrying Harry and Elizabeth into different royal houses, they would not only oblige both houses to acknowledge the children as legitimate, they would also forge alliances with two strong countries instead of one, strengthening England's position now and ensuring that Harry would have allies when he became King.

"It's a pity that King James has no daughter," he remarked. England and Scotland made uneasy allies at best and bitter enemies at worst but Henry, like his father before him, could recognize the need to try to maintain civil relations with their neighbour, knowing that border raids did neither country any good. The Northern lords did their best to guard against Scottish attacks but, despite their vigilance, there were raids on occasion, and those raids did great harm to the villages near the border, which could be devastated by an attack, without warning.

Before he died, Henry the Seventh had toyed with the idea of arranging a marriage between his daughter and the Scottish King who, as a cousin of Elizabeth of York's, also had Plantagenet blood flowing through his veins and therefore a slight claim to the English throne, thinking that he might be able to secure peace and mutual friendship through Margaret but he had died before the necessary arrangements could be made for the marriage and, when his son became King, he had decided against pursuing the marriage of his father's choice, and made an arrangement for Margaret to be contracted to the King of Portugal instead, thinking it a better match for her.

Had King James had a daughter, Henry thought that she would have made a good match for Harry and, as Scotland was a relatively poor kingdom next to England, and as King James had never shown himself to be unwilling to recognize Anne as Queen, there was no risk that he would decline the match on the grounds that Harry's legitimacy was questionable. Instead, he would surely be delighted that a princess of so small and poor a kingdom of Scotland was being offered the chance to become the wife of the heir to the English throne, to know that his grandson would be the King of England, Ireland and, by rights, France one day.

What monarch in his position would not be grateful for such a golden opportunity?

Unfortunately, although King James had been married twice, he had only two infant sons and no daughters as yet, which meant that the Infanta Juana was currently the best match for Harry.

Any other royal houses that might have been interested in matching one of their daughters to Harry were too minor for Henry to even contemplate the match. He wanted much better for his son than the daughter of a Duke or a petty German prince.

Anne nodded, thinking that, as Harry would not turn five until June, the issue of his marriage was not one of great urgency. It was important for him to solidify his position by marrying the daughter of a prominent European royal house, ensuring that he would have the protection of a solid alliance with that house should anybody ever seek to challenge his claim to the throne but, at his age, they had time to debate the merits of various candidates.

Anything could happen between now and Harry's fourteenth birthday.

"What about Mary?" She asked instead. Henry's expression of astonishment was unmistakeable and Anne, who could remember a time when he had reproved her for worrying about who Elizabeth's future husband would be when Mary was not yet betrothed, was faintly amused by this. "Lady Mary is of an age to be married," she pointed out, deliberately keeping her tone light and knowing that it was an understatement; at twenty-two, Mary was already older than brides or royal or noble status usually were. Under other circumstances, she would have become a wife years ago and probably made Henry a grandfather several times over by now but, once Henry learned of the invalidity of his union with Katherine, the issue of Mary's marriage was shelved.

Few suitors of royal blood were willing to take the chance of marrying Mary while her parents' marriage was being tried in the papal courts, in case their gamble failed to pay off and, instead of wedding the heiress to the English throne, they found themselves married to a royal bastard. Even those who expressed an interest were rebuffed, especially after England broke away from Rome, as Henry wanted to ensure that Mary did not make a marriage with a royal house that might conceivably champion her as heir to the throne ahead of his children by Anne.

Five years ago, Anne would never have been able to contemplate the idea of drawing attention to the fact that her stepdaughter should be married.

Elizabeth's legitimacy was questioned so often in those days, with both the Emperor and the Bishop of Rome staunchly insisting that she was a bastard and that Mary was the legitimate heir, so it would have been folly on her part to help their cause by suggesting that a marriage should be made for Mary, not when she knew that any suitor of royal blood would insist that his prospective bride should be declared legitimate and restored to the succession before they were willing to consent to the match. The honour of their lines would require no less.

Even King Francis, whom Anne had naively counted as her friend and ally, believing him when he said that he was pleased to see her as Queen, both because she was a friend to France and because the repudiation of Katherine would displease the Emperor, with whom he was at odds, had betrayed her. Initially willing to enter into negotiations regarding the possibility of Elizabeth being betrothed to his youngest son, he had yielded to pressure exerted by the Emperor and had a change of heart, insisting that, as Elizabeth was not accepted as legitimate by the Emperor or by the Bishop of Rome, he could not consider consenting to the idea of her marrying his son.

To crown the insult, he had even dared to indicate that he would find the idea of a marriage between the Lady Mary and the Dauphin far more acceptable than one between Elizabeth and the Duke of Angouleme, accompanying the suggestion with thinly veiled threats that, if Henry refused to agree to it, he would make a match between the Dauphin and the Emperor's daughter instead.

If he had come out and announced that he considered Anne to be nothing more than a concubine, while her child was a bastard, his meaning could not have been plainer.

However, the situation was different now.

Not even the Emperor was trying to push Henry into restoring Mary as a legitimate princess these days and, even if he was, the English people had shown that they would not welcome the idea of Mary's restoration. The lack of enthusiasm for the demands made by the rebels at St. Barbara's had proven that the people did not want to see her as a Princess and that they supported Harry.

King Francis had publicly and formally agreed to the betrothal of Elizabeth and the Duke of Orleans, ensuring that Elizabeth's future was secure and that he could not easily back out of his commitment to recognize her legitimacy, and Harry's. No monarch or prince had shown any interest in suing for Mary's hand in marriage and Anne didn't imagine that there would be any offers for Mary; the only way a royal match would be made for the girl would be if her father was the one to propose her as a bride to a would-be ally.

Mary was no longer a threat and it was obvious to Anne that her stepdaughter was unhappy at court, despite the fact that she tried to ease the situation for her as much as possible by being a kind mistress to her, ensuring that, as far as possible, Mary did not have to perform the tasks that she found most objectionable, and that she was given plenty of leisure time away from her apartments. As well as that, although only a fool would believe that Mary's frequent claims of illness were all true, she made a point of never quibbling when Mary sent her maid to make her excuses for why she would not be able to perform her duties that day.

In Mary's position, she would not want to attend herself, so the least she could do was allow Mary to take a break from her service whenever she felt in need of one.

She truly had not expected that Mary would remain a member of her household as long as she had. When Henry broached the subject of Mary becoming one of her ladies, Anne thought that he intended it as a test of his daughter's loyalty, reasoning that, if her submission was not truly sincere, it would show in her behaviour towards Anne, thinking that a girl as proud and as stubborn as Mary would never be able to hide her true feelings for a prolonged period.

Anne privately cared little for whether or not Mary's submission was genuine; as long as her stepdaughter didn't intend to harm her or her children, and as long as she accorded her the dues of a Queen to her face, especially before others, for the sake of appearances, she had little interest in learning what was in Mary's heart and she strongly suspected that she was better off not knowing. Mary was Katherine's daughter through and through, and would never have willingly repudiated her mother or herself unless she truly grew desperate for a return to her father's favour, just as she would never think kindly of the woman she surely blamed for the dissolution of her parents' marriage and her being named a bastard. It was too much to expect of her.

Henry felt differently, however, and for him, nothing would satisfy him except that he could be fully confident that his daughter accepted that he was right about the invalidity of his marriage to her mother, that she admitted that it was wrong of her to ever dare to dispute her illegitimacy or to lay claim to the title of Princess and that she accepted him as head of the Church of England ahead of the Bishop of Rome, without reservation, and until he was satisfied that this was the case, he would not release her from her duties as a lady-in-waiting in Anne's household.

He would be waiting a long time for satisfactory proof of Mary's capitulation, Anne knew this.

If she, who barely knew her stepdaughter, even after Mary had spent the past year as a member of her household, could see that Mary was not truly sincere when she claimed to believe that she was a bastard and that her mother had never been her father's wife, then surely Henry, who had known Mary much longer, and who would know that her strong will was her inheritance from both him and Katherine, would never be satisfied that his daughter had yielded to his will, unreservedly.

He must know, in his heart, that although Mary swore the Oath, she did not believe in its terms and would only ever accept it out of necessity… so he would never release her from Anne's service.

Even if Anne could not feel pity for Mary, she would not have wanted to have a lady in her household who found her service truly objectionable, or who disliked her as much as Mary must. She might have agreed to taking her stepdaughter as one of her ladies, deeming it to be preferable to allowing Mary to take a position in the children's household instead, but that was when she believed that it would be a temporary measure, not a permanent post.

Now, however, it seemed as though there were only two ways in which she would be able to see Mary removed from her household, and she could not exercise one of those options. She could not dismiss her in disgrace; Anne might not have been comfortable around Mary but it would have been wrong for to punish Mary when she had committed no offence against her, not one that would merit being dismissed from her position in disgrace, especially as this was likely to lead to Mary being banished from court altogether and shut away in a dismal country manor somewhere, as Henry was certain to be angry with his daughter if he believed that she had misbehaved, thinking that it was proof that she lied when she took the Oath and that she was disloyal.

The other option was marriage.

If a suitable husband could be found for Mary, then she could leave the court with honour instead of in disgrace, releasing her from Anne's service and ensuring that her future would be secure.

Although Henry was surprised by her suggestion at first, he did not dismiss it. The idea had merit, certainly; for all her disobedience, Mary was still his daughter and, if she would only be the loving, dutiful and obedient child he wanted her to be, he would see to it that she would never be allowed to want for anything. Her position at his court would be one of honour instead of one of service, and he would find a suitable husband for her… but which husband?

Anne was right that Mary was of marriageable age now, and he thought that it was very kind of her to remember her stepdaughter and to speak on her behalf, but Henry knew that the question of which husband would be suitable for Mary was one over which he would have to take especial care, to ensure that he and his family were not given cause to regret his generosity in allowing her to marry. He had to be sure that there would be no repercussions from his choice so it was vital that he choose the right suitor, somebody trustworthy.

Legitimate or not, Mary was the daughter of one of the greatest monarchs in Christendom and, as such, he disliked the idea that she would become the wife of an ordinary nobleman and would prefer to make a royal match for her, one befitting the Tudor blood that flowed through her veins. However, it would be a great risk for him to consent to a match between the daughter who was once mistakenly thought of as a legitimate heir to the throne and a prince or King who could muster the resources to wage a war to set Mary on the throne ahead of Harry. Because of her bastard status, Mary's future husband would need to be generously compensated for taking her as his wife, especially as Henry had no intention of ever allowing her a place in the succession but, if he gave her a large dowry, might he be funding a future rebellion against Harry's rule?

If he married Elizabeth to King Francis' son, and Harry to the Emperor's daughter, it would not be in the interests of either monarch to support Mary, so he needed to ensure that, even if he chose a royal husband for Mary, he was somebody who could never hope to be able to muster the necessary forces or financial resources to enable him to try to claim the throne on Mary's behalf.

"The Duke of Cleves sent envoys to make a trading alliance. He is unmarried." He mused aloud, trying to remember what he knew of the Duke. Cleves was a small state but, considering that Mary was illegitimate, the match might be a good one for her. "It may be worth considering."

Anne nodded encouragingly, pleased that he was taking her suggestion seriously. She would have said something else, named other minor royals who might be suitable but they were interrupted.

Henry's secretary knocked on the door, waiting to be given permission before he entered, bowing deeply. "Your Majesty, I have a letter for you." He said, lifting the folded parchment and turning it over a little so that Henry could make out the seal. He glanced in Anne's direction, as though uncomfortable to have her present when he handed Henry the letter, but he didn't dare to withhold it. He handed it to Henry, waiting until he was dismissed before bowing deeply and backing out of the room, giving Anne an apologetic look as he left.

"What is it?" She asked, wondering why the secretary should be reluctant to deliver a letter in her presence, even though it was well known that Henry shared decisions with her these days.

A frown creased Henry's brow as he read through the letter but, when Anne spoke, he quickly replaced the frown with a pleasant smile, for her sake. "It's nothing for you to be concerned about, sweetheart." He said with forced cheeriness, feeling as though he could willingly strangle Edward Seymour for contacting him directly instead of through the agent deputized to deal with him, as he had done until now. The system that Cromwell had devised to see to it that young Edward was provided for was one that worked well and, had Seymour contacted the usual person, the boy's needs would have been met without delay, as Henry had made it plain that his son's needs were never to be neglected and that he was to be provided with all he needed.

There was only one thing that Anne could think of that he would be so unwilling to talk to her about yet, at the same time, try to put a brave face on it so that she did not worry.

When she looked more closely at the seal on the letter, her suspicions were confirmed.

"Is it your son?" She asked quietly, managing to keep the pain she felt at referring to Jane Seymour's child as her husband's son, of thinking of him in those terms, from her face.

"Yes, sweetheart." Henry responded honestly, wishing that he could shield her from the pain she must be enduring and wishing, for the umpteenth time, that he had not lain with Jane that day.

"I hope he's not ill." Anne meant it; regardless of the circumstances, she would not wish harm on little Edward Fitzroy. The poor child could not be blamed for his parentage, after all.

"No, he's in good health." Henry assured her, reaching out to take her hand in his and gently kissing the tips of each of her fingers in turn. "Master Seymour has written to make enquiries about his education now that the boy is nearly four – although he should know better than to contact me directly, I leave the arrangements in the hands of one of my secretaries." He added hastily, in case Anne thought that he was secretly keeping in touch with Edward Seymour behind her back or, worse still, with Jane. He wanted to ensure that she knew that he had no contact with them. "He wants to know what arrangements he should make for his lessons, that's all."

Under other circumstances, the idea of sending for little Edward to join Harry in the schoolroom at Eltham Palace would be a tempting one, especially as the two boys were so close in age, with less than a year between them, and since other children of noble birth were being selected to join the establishment at Eltham, it was an opportunity that a King's son should be given, but he didn't want to even hint at such a possibility, thinking that it would hurt Anne if she believed that he wished to place his bastard son in the same household as his legitimate children by her, or that he regarded him as being equal to Elizabeth and Harry, so he didn't say a word about it.

He was astonished when Anne was the one to give voice to his thoughts, suggesting, almost matter-of-factly, that it might be convenient for all concerned for the boy to go to Eltham where he might share Harry's lessons, and he scarcely believed his ears at first, wondering if he might be imagining that she had said it, or else that she might be saying it to please him, thinking that this was what he wanted and making the suggestion for his sake, even though, given the choice, she would not want to have her husband's son by another woman being brought up with their children.

"That's not necessary, sweetheart, not if you don't want it." He told her gently, keeping hold of her hand and watching the expression on her face carefully, looking for any signs that would betray her true feelings about the issue. "The boy will do well enough if a tutor is sent to Wolf Hall to instruct him."

"But he should be with Elizabeth and Harry." Whether she liked it or not, Anne had to admit that this was the case. Now that Jane was married, and had left Wolf Hall to live with her husband, leaving little Edward behind, it was for Henry to take charge of his son. With other children, the sons and daughters of nobles and, in Annie Stafford's case, a knight, being welcomed as the children's companions, could they really justify excluding the King's son from the household at Eltham, especially when he and Harry were so close in age? Even if Anne didn't like the idea, could she justify keeping Edward Fitzroy apart from his father and siblings – and even if she had never actually asked for Henry to refrain from seeing his son and from welcoming him to court, she knew that it was to spare her pain that he kept his distance from the little boy.

"Are you sure?" Henry pressed. The idea of having his three younger children living under one roof was an appealing one, especially as he was confident that, even if he was willing to welcome little Edward into a royal household, the boy's presence would not put Elizabeth and Harry's positions in doubt – he would never even contemplate the idea if he thought that it would – but he wasn't going to agree to it if it would make Anne the least bit unhappy.

"I'm sure." Anne made herself smile, imbuing her tone with far more confidence than she felt. She did not doubt that it would be uncomfortable for her, at least at first, and that it was bound to provoke gossip if, after almost four years of refusing to contact his son, Henry suddenly welcomed the boy as a companion to their children – she was sure that she would hear all about this from her father, who would undoubtedly be dismayed that she had not tried to talk Henry out of providing little Edward with such recognition, and that he would be convinced that she was losing her wits if he ever heard that she was the one to propose the idea – but she could deal with that. "I'd like for him to live at Eltham with Elizabeth and Harry."

"You're too generous, my love." Henry told her, kissing her hand again and marvelling at the way she was able to think of little Edward like that, even under the circumstances. If she truly was willing to accept the idea of his illegitimate son being brought up with their children, then he would send instructions to Edward Seymour that the boy was to be brought to Eltham Palace next month, when the royal children and their companions were ready to move into their new home. "I'll send for him, but on one condition – if you ever find that you're not happy with this arrangement, I want you to tell me straight away, alright? I can make other arrangements for the boy if you don't want him at Eltham, but I don't want you to be unhappy, about anything."

"I'll be fine." Anne assured him, touched by his concern for her but, at the same time, resolving that she would not ask him to send his son away. "We can make this work, I know that we can."

Henry's smile was wide as he leaned forward to kiss her lips, thinking that he must have pleased God greatly for Him to lead a treasure like Anne into his life, to bring him such joy.

"I don't deserve you."

* * *

**_20th February 1541_ **

Because he was a big boy now, he was going to leave Wolf Hall. From now on, he would be living at a place called Eltham Palace, with the Prince of Wales and the Princess Elizabeth and lots of other children, and he would have his lessons from the Prince's own tutors, who would teach him all of the things that a King's son needed to know if he hoped to make his father proud of him.

Uncle Edward was very pleased when he told him the news. He usually looked very serious and hardly ever smiled but when he told Edward that he would be living at Eltham, he was smiling and very happy. He said that this meant that the King believed that Edward was very important, worthy of studying with the Prince, something that Edward thought was strange. He already knew that he was important, because he was the King's son. It meant that all the servants at Wolf Hall were especially polite to him, because he was partly royal. However, he was pleased that his papa the King thought that he was important. He wanted him to be proud of him.

He was very surprised that his Mama wasn't happy about the news, like Uncle Edward.

Uncle Edward told her when Mama came to Wolf Hall to visit for his birthday but instead of being pleased, Mama was upset. Edward thought that she might even have been a little scared, though he couldn't imagine why. She shouted at Uncle Edward, and he had never heard her shout at anybody else before, and she wouldn't listen when he told her that it was a great honour.

Edward wasn't supposed to hear what they were saying, he had slipped away from his nurse so that he could listen outside the door, even though this was a very naughty thing to do, especially for the King's son, who should know how to behave properly. He heard his Mama cry that she wouldn't be able to see him anymore, and that made him sad too, at least until Uncle Edward said that the King was sure to let her come to see him at Eltham sometimes, the same way that she visited him at Wolf Hall.

Then she started to talk about the Queen.

His Mama didn't like the Queen, though Edward didn't know why. She disliked her so much that she sometimes forgot that she was the Queen and called her 'Lady Anne' instead, though Edward was sure that it was very rude not to call the Queen by her proper title. He couldn't imagine anybody daring to call his papa the King 'Lord Henry'!

When Uncle Edward told her about Eltham, she got very upset because she said that while he was there, he would see the Queen and she thought that the Queen wouldn't like Edward, or that she might be so angry that the King had let him come to live with the Prince and the Princess that she would be unkind to him or even hurt him. that made Edward feel very scared but he couldn't ask his Mama or his Uncle Edward about what he had heard because if he did, they would know that he was eavesdropping and they would be cross with him, and disappointed in his behaviour, so he didn't say a word about it when he said goodbye to them before setting off for Eltham.

His nurse, Mistress Jones, was to come with him to take care of him, and he was very glad about that. Even though Uncle Edward promised that there would be lots of servants at Eltham, hundreds of them, he didn't know any of them yet and he would be happier if somebody he knew could be there too, especially at first.

Mistress Jones spent a lot of time talking to him about how he was supposed to behave once they got to Eltham Palace, giving him even more instructions than Uncle Edward had and stressing that, if he wasn't a good boy and if he didn't behave respectfully, the King would be very displeased against and might even send him back to Wolf Hall if he didn't behave himself. Edward listened to her admonitions with only half an ear, knowing that she would repeat her lecture again once they were settled in his new room and resolving that he was going to be a good boy, so good that his papa the King would never want to banish him.

When they arrived, he could not believe his eyes.

He had thought Wolf Hall a fine house but, next to Eltham Palace, it was tiny and, when he and Mistress Jones were ushered into the reception hall by a servant wearing blue and green livery, he could see that it was much, much finer than any of the rooms at Wolf Hall were. He could hardly believe that he was going to live in such a grand home and he was so impressed that he couldn't utter a word, not even when Mistress Jones asked him how he liked his new home.

He wanted to say that it was very fine and that he liked it very much but his tongue wouldn't speak the words. Instead, he could only stare.

One of the servants in the reception hall left and returned a few minutes later with a grey-haired lady dressed all in black, with a black cap covering most of her hair. Mistress Jones curtsied when she saw the lady and, as Edward was not certain whether he was supposed to bow to the lady or whether she was supposed to curtsey to him, he decided to make a little bow, to be safe.

Her eyes seemed very cold as she looked at him, before speaking to Mistress Jones. "This is the child?" She asked, as though she thought that there might be a mistake and that Edward might not be the little boy who was supposed to come and live here.

"Yes, madam." Mistress Jones curtsied again, looking more nervous than Edward had ever seen her. "This is Lord Edward Fitzroy."

Even though he felt a bit shy in this new place, Edward smiled when she said his name. Fitzroy was a very, very special name. His Mama and his Grandpapa and his Uncle Edward had all told him so. It was a way of saying that he was the King's son, in case people didn't already know what an important little boy he was. However, the lady didn't seem to realize how special his name was because she didn't smile, she only nodded.

"I am Lady Bryan, Lady Governess to the Prince of Wales." She announced, her tone indicating that her position as the Prince's governess made her a very important person. She looked down at Edward again and she gave him a small smile, although it did not reach her eyes, which looked stern. "His Highness the Prince of Wales and Her Highness the Princess Elizabeth are upstairs in the Long Gallery, with the other children." She told him. "I will take you there now, so that you may greet them. You are not to speak to the Prince or the Princess until you are spoken to."

"Yes, Lady Bryan." Edward wanted to tell her that she did not need to worry, that both his uncle and Mistress Jones had warned him of this before, but he didn't dare. Uncle Edward had told him that this was one of the most important rules for him to remember, almost as important as the rules about how he should behave when the King and Queen came to visit. Even though the Prince of Wales and the Princess Elizabeth were his brother and sister, he must never presume to call them that, not unless they told him that he might and even then, he should only call them that in private, never in public. He had to make sure that he always bowed to them and that he was always polite and never quarrelled with them, even if they had a toy that he wished to play with or if they teased him. He was the most important child at Wolf Hall but the Prince and the Princess were the most important at Eltham Palace and he had to remember that.

Lady Bryan had much longer legs than Edward had so he had to run to keep up with her and with Mistress Jones as they made their way up to the Long Gallery. They could hear the sound of laughter from the corridor and it made Edward feel less nervous to hear it. He was pleased to know that there would be lots of children here for him to play with.

The children were playing shuttlecock in the corridor but they stopped their game when they saw that they had visitors, looking curiously at Edward. Two children, a boy who was only a bit bigger than Edward and who had dark hair, and a fair-haired girl who was more than a head taller than him stepped forward, with their companions clustering behind them, and Lady Bryan made a very deep curtsey to them.

"Your Highnesses." She greeted them in a much kinder tone than she had used when she spoke to Edward. Her smile was wider too, more friendly. "May I present Lord Edward Fitzroy? He has come to live at Eltham with us, and to share your lessons, my Lord Prince." She added to the boy, before looking back at Edward. "Lord Edward, may I present the Prince of Wales and the Princess Elizabeth?"

Edward bowed deeply before speaking the greeting he had been taught. "I am honoured, my Lord Prince and my Lady Princess." One of the children giggled a little and he wondered whether he had said something wrong but, to his relief, the Prince and the Princess had not noticed anything amiss. He wouldn't have wanted for them to think that he was a silly baby, one who could not be trusted to know what he ought to say when he met such important people as them.

Once she had introduced the Prince and Princess, Lady Bryan named each of the other children in turn. "This is Lord Henry Brandon – you will share a bedchamber with him, Lord Edward – and his sister, Lady Catherine." She introduced, indicating a boy and a girl who looked so alike that Edward thought that he might muddle them if the girl's hair wasn't longer and she wasn't wearing a gown instead of a doublet and hose, like her brother.

"We're twins." Lady Catherine told him helpfully. "And you can call me Cathy. He's Hal."

"This is Annie Stafford." Lady Bryan introduced the next child, a dark-haired girl who was only a bit smaller than Princess Elizabeth. "She is niece to Her Majesty the Queen." The way she spoke made it sound as though being the Queen's niece was almost as special as being the King's son. The last three children looked quite alike. There was a boy and a girl who looked around the same age as Princess Elizabeth, and a boy who looked around the same age as the Prince. "These are the Dudleys; Robert, Mary and Guilford." Lady Bryan watched as the children greeted the new arrival in turn and then she stepped back a little, wanting to give them a chance to get acquainted. She motioned for Mistress Jones to follow her out of the gallery. "I will show you the bedchamber that Lord Edward is to share with Lord Hal." She told her as they left.

Edward felt panicked when he saw his nurse go. She was the only person at Eltham that he knew and, without her, he felt shy alone with the other children, all of whom were regarding him curiously, as though they could not decide if they wanted him to be their friend or if they didn't like him very much at all.

He hoped that they would like him.

It wouldn't be nice to live at Eltham if nobody there liked him.

After looking at his newest companion in silence for a few moments, Harry went to take one of the extra rackets from the top of the table by the wall, holding it out to Edward with a solemn expression on his face. "Would you like to play with us?" Edward nodded vigorously. "Good. You can be on Lilibet's team." He told him, indicating his sister. "She'll show you how to play."

Edward obediently moved to Princess Elizabeth's side and he was delighted when she smiled at him. He thought that she had the prettiest smile he had ever seen.

Her voice was sweet and friendly when she spoke. "I hope that you like it here." She said kindly.

Edward was sure that he would.


	32. Chapter Thirty-One

**_1st March 1541_ **

It was not Lady Bryan's place to criticize the conduct of the King and Queen, or to make any sort of demands on them and, under ordinary circumstances, she would never have contemplated doing so, or even wishing that she could, but these were not ordinary circumstances, far from it. She had received a message early the previous day, indicating that the King and Queen were to travel to Eltham to spend the day there today and, while she had expected that they would pay a visit soon after the removal of the royal children's household to their new establishment, to see for themselves that the Prince of Wales and Princess Elizabeth were settling into their new home, and that they were well and happy, the visit left her with a dilemma on her hands.

It was not that Lady Bryan objected to the idea of Lord Edward Fitzroy being placed in her care, as one of the Prince's companions. It was not her place to object and, if it was the King's wish for his illegitimate son to be brought up in the same establishment as his legitimate children by Queen Anne and that he should be permitted the honour of sharing the Prince of Wales' lessons, she would never presume to suggest that it was not his right to order this and she would never voice an objection to the idea of the child being placed in her charge, bastard or not.

Royal blood commanded respect, even if it came from the wrong side of the blanket – but for the Lady Mary's obstinate, disobedient behaviour, Lady Bryan would have treated her with honour as the King's daughter, ensuring that she would never be called upon to perform any of the more onerous tasks associated with the care of the infant Princess Elizabeth during her time of service at Hatfield as a maid of honour to the Princess, and she would not have had to punish her for her bad behaviour by withholding privileges or imposing extra chores when she was disobedient or defiant – but the question was how much respect and honour should be accorded to a royal bastard?

She would have been much happier if she was sent more explicit instructions about how the young boy was to be treated, and what his standing was to be at Eltham, either from the King and Queen themselves or from their chamberlains or even their secretaries, so that she would know what was expected of her. Lord Edward was coming to Eltham as a companion to his half-brother rather than as a servant, but no further details were given, and the difficult decisions were left to her.

Was she expected to see to it that he would be treated with near royal honours by the members of the household, accorded precedence directly after the Prince and Princess and honoured above all the other inhabitants of Eltham, as the natural son of the King, or was the young boy to be placed behind children like the Brandon twins, children of one of England's highest-ranking peers, Annie Stafford the Queen's niece, and perhaps even the young Dudleys in terms of precedence, by virtue of his bastard status, and to be counted as the lowest-ranking of the children, so that it would be clear to everybody at Eltham that, though he was the King's son, he was just a bastard and must never be allowed to think of himself as the equal of the Prince and Princess?

The fact that no provision had been made for Edward to be provided with an apartment of his own, and the fact that he brought only one servant with him, where some of the other children who were chosen to act as companions to the royal children had two or more attendants each, and the fact that the King had made no move to ennoble the boy by granting him a peerage in his own right, as he had for his other bastard, seeming content to leave him as plain Lord Edward Fitzroy would indicate that his position at Eltham was a relatively low one among the children.

However, at the same time, the fact that the King had decided, after four years of leaving the child to the care of his mother's people and never having any contact with him, to honour the child with a place in the schoolroom at Eltham was surely a sign that he was preparing to recognize the boy more than he had previously and that he could well wish to see him honoured.

Then there was the Queen to consider.

Lady Bryan was a kinswoman of Anne's, as half-sister to Elizabeth Howard, Anne's mother, and she would never have wanted to give her the slightest cause for complaint about her service, knowing that even their blood ties would not be enough to keep Anne from ordering that she should be dismissed as Lady Governess to the Prince if she was displeased with any aspect of how the royal nurseries and the establishment at Eltham Palace were run. If Queen Anne saw that little Edward was being treated with a higher degree of honour than she would wish to see him accorded, might she be offended, especially as it was probable that she was already offended by the fact that the child was to be permitted to reside at Eltham in the first place?

What woman would be happy to know that her husband's bastard by a one-time rival for his affections was to be brought up alongside her own children?

Lady Bryan had not heard even a hint of gossip that indicated that there was any strife within the royal marriage – the sort of gossip that had caused her grave concern when Princess Elizabeth was a toddler, before Prince Harry was born and when she had had cause to fear that Queen Anne might fall from favour, and Lady Bryan's little charge would suffer for it, perhaps even being named a bastard as the Lady Mary was before her, if the King wished to set Queen Anne aside and remarry – but she was certain that there must be something that had prompted the King, after being content to have no contact with his son for so long, to allow the boy to be brought to Eltham Palace and to the royal nursery instead of leaving him where he was, with his mother's kin.

If she made the wrong choice with regard to the way Edward was to be treated, she would find herself being held responsible for either according the child too much honour or too little but what could she be expected to do, when she was sent no instructions to let her know what the King and Queen's wishes were?

Even for this visit, no instructions were sent.

Did the King expect that Edward would be downstairs with the Prince and the Princess when they came to visit, so that he could see his illegitimate son when he saw his other children, equally eager for each child's presence, or would he be angry if he saw the boy there when he entered, preferring that he should be kept out of sight while they were there so that his presence could cause no offence or distress to the Queen?

"How am I supposed to know which His Majesty would prefer?" She asked Kat Ashley as the other governess accompanied her on a final tour of inspection of the nurseries in preparation for the royal visit. Their charges were happily occupied with a game of bowls and scarcely noticed as their governesses went about their business, inspecting the room in minute detail and observing the activities of both their young charges and the attendants under their direction.

The apartments of the royal children, along with their schoolrooms and playrooms, the reception rooms where they would greet their parents and the Great Hall where they would dine, were all spotless. Canopies of estate were readied, so that they might be placed over the thrones where the King and Queen would sit when they dined in state with their children. The Prince and Princess would also dine under canopies, as was their right, one on either side of the royal couple. Each servant, from governesses, tutors and maids of honour to the lowest of the menial workers, all wore clean, neat garments and all were ordered to wash and instructed with regard to how they ought to behave, should Their Majesties condescend to notice them.

Everything was ready for the visit, aside from the problem of what was to be done with Edward.

"His Majesty the King will be offended if he wishes to see his children – all of them – and he finds that Lord Edward has been kept away when he arrives." Kat pointed out reasonably, feeling sorry for the little boy. Elizabeth was her special charge and, as such, she had responsibility for the little girls at Eltham while Lady Bryan, as Harry's governess, was responsible for him and his companions but, although she had had not had much contact with little Edward, she felt sorry for him, knowing that it must be difficult enough for such a young child to leave his home without the added burden of the knowledge of his bastard status being highlighted for him and the others.

"But if the sight of the boy causes Her Majesty the Queen any distress, the King will blame me for allowing him to be present to upset her when she arrives." Lady Bryan countered, easily able to imagine how she might find herself receiving a stiff rebuke from the King for allowing such a thing to happen, as though it was her fault entirely that such a thing was allowed to happen, even though she could not be blamed for the fact that no instructions were sent. "If only a message of some kind could have been sent, by somebody!" She lamented. "When the Lady Mary was in service at Hatfield, I was given instructions that she was to be kept to her room if the King or the Queen visited, and that they did not want to see her – I certainly can't blame the Queen for not wanting to see the girl, after the way she spoke to her the first time, but thank God she's learned sense since, and knows her place – and at least then, I knew where I stood."

It might not have been pleasant for her to have to deal with the Lady Mary's outraged protests that she was the King's daughter, the Princess of Wales, and that as such she had a right to be present when her father arrived, so that she might greet him and receive his blessing, as a daughter's right even if the inhabitants at Hatfield denied her the title of Princess, but when Lady Bryan was able to tell the girl that the King himself had issued orders, commanding that she was not to be allowed to show her face while he was present, even the Lady Mary could not argue.

Lady Bryan could cope with her unhappy, sullen behaviour, as long as Lady Mary did not defy the orders and offend the King and Queen by barging into their presence.

"Perhaps a message will still be sent on, before the King and Queen arrive, to let you know what their wishes are." Kat suggested soothingly, hoping that this would be true. Privately, she felt that even if no instructions were sent, there was more of a risk attached to keeping the boy to the nursery when the royal couple arrived than there was to having him present.

If they had Edward downstairs with the other children who acted as companions to the Prince and Princess, and the King signalled that he would rather that the little boy was not present, Edward could be quietly removed with a minimum of fuss but if the King expected to see his illegitimate son present, along with his legitimate children, and they were obliged to tell him that they had kept him upstairs while the others were brought down to greet them, the King's reaction would be an angry one, and it was likely that they all might be called to account regarding their treatment of little Edward, questioned closely so that the King could satisfy himself that his son was not being mistreated or shamed because of his illegitimacy, and if they could not convince him that they were treating him with respect and kindness, they might be summarily dismissed from their posts.

None of them wanted to face the King's wrath, over anything.

She was about to say as much to Lady Bryan when she noticed that the children's game had been halted and that nine pairs of wide eyes were watching them, and nine pairs of ears listening avidly to every word they were saying. "Little pitchers have big ears, Lady Bryan." She pointed out quietly, knowing that if Princess Elizabeth was listening, she was likely to have a lot of questions to answer before the day was out. "Perhaps it would be better for us to discuss this outside."

Lady Bryan followed her gaze and nodded hastily, hurrying out of the room so that they could resume their conversation, out of earshot of the children and particularly the Prince and Princess.

She was realistic enough to know that, eventually, a time would come when her charges would be old enough to begin to ask uncomfortable questions – Princess Elizabeth was already very curious about the existence of a brother who, although he was the son of her father, was not a Prince as Prince Harry was and who was treated as one of their companions rather than as one of the royal children – but she was far from eager for that day to come, as she knew that she could easily find herself called upon to explain matters to them, and she did not know what she should say.

When Elizabeth was very small, it was easy to be vague with such a young child, and to tell her that the Lady Mary was her sister, but not her true sister, which was why, despite her claims to the contrary, she was no princess and that this was why she was not accorded the same honours that were due to Elizabeth as the true Princess of England, daughter of the King and Queen and why the two of them were treated so differently, but Elizabeth was getting older now, too old to be fobbed off with such half-hearted explanations and she was an intelligent child, able to see through deception with disconcerting ease. She would not be fobbed off with a surface explanation and if she was not convinced, then her younger brother would follow her example and refuse to accept anything less than a full explanation for the mystery.

The question was an even more delicate one because of the situation with regard to the royal marriage; thankfully, there were very few people in England who questioned the King's marriage to Queen Anne these days, and the little Prince of Wales was accepted as his father's heir, with the people already loving the sunny little boy who was to be their next ruler but some memories could be long, and the shadow of the Princess Dowager of Wales had hung over the royal marriage for years, years during which her insistence that the title of Queen of England belonged to her and no other was a direct challenge to Queen Anne's right to hold the title, while her daughter's claims that she was the King's only trueborn child and therefore the rightful heir to the throne implied that the little princess in Lady Bryan's charge was illegitimate.

Lady Bryan marvelled at the patience the King had shown to Katherine and Mary.

Others were severely punished for denying Anne's title as Queen or Elizabeth's right to be her father's heiress, in the absence of a prince, but although the King proved capable of being ruthless towards others who defied him, even men like More who were once dear to him, he exercised a greater degree of patience towards his former wife and his illegitimate daughter than Lady Bryan –who grieved at the measures being taken, even though she knew that they were necessary to guard the rights of her precious charge – would have expected of him.

Thankfully, Mary had learned sense, and admitted that it was wrong of her to ever doubt that her parents' marriage was invalid or to attempt to falsely claim the title of Princess, and the English people had come to realize that the royal marriage was a true one, one which had proved that it was favoured by God with the birth of living male issue, and they willingly accepted its issue as the legitimate heirs, but even so, Lady Bryan did not want to broach the issue of Edward's illegitimacy with the royal children, not when there was a time that their own legitimacy was not accepted.

She hastened out of the room with Kat before any of her charges could ask her about their conversation, but if she had hoped that the children would drop the issue and return their attention to their game, forgetting what they had overheard, she was doomed to disappointment. Their game was abruptly abandoned so that they could discuss the puzzling issue.

Edward remained quiet at first. He couldn't understand why the two governesses should have to wonder about whether he was to be allowed to be downstairs when the King and Queen arrived.

He was the King's own son after all, and all of the other children were supposed to go down, so that they might greet the King and Queen when they arrived and be presented to them. The governesses and tutors and nurses had all given them lessons so that their bows and curtsies would be perfect when they were presented to the King and Queen and they would know exactly how they ought to behave, so that Their Majesties would know that they had not been remiss in teaching them manners, and would be pleased with them.

He couldn't understand why Lady Bryan would think that the King's own son should be kept out of sight when the King and Queen visited. If the King was coming to see his children, wouldn't he want to see Edward too? Edward would have thought that the King would want to see him most out of all of his children, even more than Harry, the Prince of Wales; he saw Harry and Elizabeth quite a lot, when they went to visit the court or when the King and Queen had gone to visit them at the palace where they lived before they came to Eltham, but he hadn't seen Edward since he was a baby, and that was a long time ago, four whole years. Edward was much bigger now, and he had learned a lot. He wanted his Papa to be pleased with him.

Why would Lady Bryan think that it would make the Queen upset if she saw him?

He knew that his Mama was afraid that the Queen wouldn't like Edward if she met him but, from the way Lady Bryan was talking, it sounded as though the Queen might even be sad to see Edward, and that the King would be very angry if something happened that made her sad, and he couldn't understand why she would think that.

He was only a little boy.

Why would he be able to make a lady as important as the Queen sad?

Harry echoed his thoughts. "Why would Mama be sad to see Edward?" He asked, puzzled. Before he left court, after the Christmas revels, his Mama promised him that she would come to see him soon after he moved to Eltham, and she said that she was looking forward to meeting the boys and girls who would live with him and Lilibet there, so why would Edward be different? If she wanted to meet his new friends, why wouldn't she want to meet Edward too – especially since Edward was not just an ordinary companion, he was family.

Robert Dudley, as the oldest of the boys, enjoyed a degree of superiority in the nursery and schoolroom and he raised an eyebrow, as though he was astonished that Harry should have to ask such a question. "Don't you know, already? My Lord Prince." He belatedly tacked on the honourific, remembering that he was addressing the Prince of Wales. "I've known for _ages_." He laid a pointed stress on the word, as though he had known for years and years, as though he had not only found out a matter of months ago, when he overheard his parents talking about the honour the King had bestowed upon the Dudley family by allowing three of the children to live and study with the Prince and Princess in their new household.

His father speculated aloud about whether the King's bastard son might be permitted to reside with them but his mother did not think that he would, not if it would make the Queen unhappy. She was of the opinion that the King loved the Queen far too much to want to risk upsetting her by making her accept his bastard as a member of the royal nursery and even his father had conceded that she was probably right about that.

They must have been very surprised when they got his letter, telling them Edward was here.

"What do you know?" Elizabeth asked, managing to hide her irritation at the idea that Robert knew more about what was happening than she did. It wasn't that she disliked him – in fact, she found him to be good company for the most part, and of all the children at Eltham, he was closest to her in age which meant that he was, in many ways, a better playmate than the others, who were younger than she was, were – but she hated the thought that she was being kept in the dark, and that there was something happening, something that affected her mother and perhaps even her whole family, that she didn't know about.

"Well..." Robert feigned reluctance, enjoying the sensation of being the only one in the know too much to be willing to give it up so easily. "I don't know if I should say anything, especially around the little children." He said, grinning inwardly at the way Harry, Edward, his little brother Guilford and the Brandon twins, none of whom were especially pleased with the fact that they were so much younger than the older inhabitants of the royal nursery, all looked ready to voice their objections and to insist that they were not babies and that they were old enough to hear whatever it was he wanted to say. "Lady Bryan might not like it if I say something."

"I'll tell Lady Bryan that I said for you to tell us." Harry promised solemnly, his curiousity refusing to be quieted by anything less than a full explanation. "I'll tell her not to scold you."

Robert favoured the younger boy with a genuine smile. For all his bravado, Lady Bryan frightened him a bit. Everybody at Eltham knew how seriously she took her charge as Lady Governess to the Prince, and he could imagine how angry she would be with him if she ever found out that he had been talking to the royal children about things that the King and Queen might not want them to know. At least if Harry spoke for him, he wouldn't get into any trouble. Nobody would scold Harry, even if he confessed to asking Robert to tell him about something that he wasn't supposed to hear. "It's a very big secret." He warned the others in a hushed voice, leading the group over to the recessed window seat, out of earshot of their attendants. "So before I say anything, everybody has to promise that, no matter what, you never, ever tell anybody that I told you this – and you don't cry about it or anything when you hear it." He added to Edward in a warning tone, not wanting the youngest to give him away. "Everybody has to promise, or I won't say anything."

"I promise." Elizabeth said at once, and her vow was seconded by a chorus of others.

Satisfied that the others would keep their word, and that nobody would let Lady Bryan know that he had spoken of a topic that he knew would be frowned upon, he began. "You know that Lord Edward is your brother, right?" He asked Elizabeth and Harry, waiting until they both nodded before continuing. "Except that he's not your _real_ brother because if he was, he'd be Prince Edward instead of Lord Edward, and he'd probably be called the Duke of York as well – he'd be even more important than you, my Lady Princess." He added to Elizabeth, who frowned at the idea. She loved Harry too much to be jealous of him but the idea of having _another_ brother who was more important than she was did not please her in the least. "Except that he's not the Queen's son, he's only the King's and that means that he's not a Prince."

"My Mama is the Lady Jane Seymour, Lady Herbert now." Edward said, wondering why this should make such a difference. He knew that an ordinary lady, like his Mama, was not as important as the Queen of England but why would that matter when his Papa was the King?

"We know this already." Elizabeth stated flatly. She wasn't interested in hearing Robert rehash the same things that she had already heard from others, she wanted to know about the parts that nobody had talked to her about before, the parts that people were keeping secret.

Robert nodded, an impish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "But what I bet you don't know is how Lord Edward came." He said triumphantly, seeing from the puzzled expressions on their faces that he guessed rightly on that front. "To make a baby, a man has to plant a seed inside a woman and then it grows into a baby, except that it takes a very long time." He explained. "But they're only supposed to do it when they're married. It's very, very wicked for a woman to let a man plant his seed in her if she's not married to him, _especially_ if he's married to somebody else." He told them solemnly. "If she does, then the baby is called a bastard when it's born."

"My Mama wouldn't do something wicked!" Edward protested at once. He had promised that he wouldn't cry so he bit his lower lip to keep tears from flowing.

"She must have." Robert countered calmly. "Or else you wouldn't be here."

"Is that why Lady Bryan thinks Mama would be sad?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"Of course." Robert confirmed. "Married ladies don't like it when their husbands make babies with other women. It makes them very unhappy, and sometimes very angry."

"Then why did Papa do it?" Harry demanded, unable to believe that his Papa, whom he knew to be a good man, who loved Mama very, very much, would ever do something that would make her unhappy. "He shouldn't have done it!" If what Robert said was true, then if Papa hadn't done the wicked thing with Edward's Mama, Edward would never have been born, but even though he liked Edward, Harry loved his Mama more and he didn't want her to be sad.

"Harry." Elizabeth spoke his name in a quiet, firm voice, laying a hand on his shoulder to quiet him, seeing that Edward was very upset by what he had heard. "You shouldn't say that about the King." She reminded him. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Papa wasn't just their Papa, he was their King too, and it wasn't right for anybody, even the Prince of Wales, to say what the King should and should not do. "It's already done, anyway." She added practically.

Even if Papa had done something wicked when he and Edward's mother made Edward, there was no sense in being upset about it now. Edward was here, and he was a nice, friendly little boy and, overall, she was glad to have him as her brother.

Despite his best efforts to keep from weeping – and, as the youngest of the children at Eltham, Edward always did his best to make sure that he did nothing that would make the others think that he was a silly baby, too young and too foolish to deserve to live in a royal household – Edward felt tears stinging the back of his eyelids, tears that threatened to escape.

He couldn't believe that his Mama would do something wicked but, if Robert was right, she had.

She and his Grandpapa and his uncles always told him that, because he was the King's son, he was very important and very special but he wasn't, not really. Harry was special, because he was the Prince of Wales, and Elizabeth was special because she was the Princess, but Edward wasn't a prince because he wasn't the Queen's son. He was just a bastard, whatever that was, and just by being born, he had made the Queen unhappy.

He wasn't surprised that Lady Bryan would think that the Queen wouldn't want to see him.

If he was the Queen, he probably wouldn't want to see himself either.

* * *

Anne's invitation to come to Eltham Palace with her came as a surprise to Mary, so much so that she gaped at her stepmother for several long moments before she finally nodded, unable to believe what she was hearing.

At breakfast, while she was serving them, she heard her father, who was hoarse with a cold, apologize to Anne over the fact that he could not accompany her, as he did not want to take any chances that he might pass a contagion onto their children, but he refused to hear of her forgoing the trip and insisted that she should go without him, assuring her that he would be fine. Once he had returned to his own quarters to rest, Anne asked her sister and Kitty Howard to come with her but she also turned to Mary to ask her if she would like to join them.

It was an invitation, not a command.

Mary nodded her assent, murmuring something that passed as thanks, and within the hour, they were in one of the royal carriages, bound for Eltham, with liveried soldiers riding before and after the carriage, and the royal standard held high. Mary had not travelled in such state since she was still the Princess of Wales, and she was uncomfortably aware of the fact that the large, comfortable carriage, the escort and the banners were for Anne's sake, not hers.

It was even more uncomfortable for her to hear people call out to the carriage as it passed, waving and calling out blessings to Queen Anne.

The last time Mary rode in a carriage with her mother, it was known that the King sought to set his loyal, loving wife aside and, as they rode from Ludlow to Whitehall after the sweating sickness had abated, allowing them to return to London in safety, the roads were lined with people eager to catch a glimpse of the two royal ladies, and to let them know that, even if the King wanted to set them aside, they still had the love and support of the people, who would stand by them.

She wondered if any of those who called out to Anne today had been among the crowds crying out to her and her mother years ago and, if they were, did they remember the day when they had called on God to bless their "Good Queen Katherine" and to their little Princess Mary, vowing that they would never accept Anne Boleyn as their Queen, no matter what the King wanted?

How could they have forgotten her mother so easily?

How could they have forgotten the Queen who won the Battle of Flodden Field, saving England from a Scottish invasion while the King was away in France? How could they have forgotten the Spanish princess they took into their hearts the moment she set foot in England as Prince Arthur's intended bride? How could they have forgotten all that her mother had done for them and for the country as a whole during the long years she spent as Queen?

How could they be willing to accept Anne, just because she was luckier than Mary's mother in the sense that the son she bore survived?

Mary was shrewd enough to know that Anne's family and supporters would have capitalized on Harry's safe arrival and continuing health, pointing to it as evidence of the fact that Anne was blessed, and that God regarded her marriage to the King as good, since He had bestowed on her a blessing that He had seen fit to withhold from Mary's mother, whose prayers for a living son went unanswered, but the people had eyes and minds of their own. Surely they could not see the birth of a son as indisputable proof of Anne's right to the title of Queen.

A child was a blessing, and Mary would have liked to be married so that she might have a family of children of her own, but criminals could father or bear strong, healthy children while good, devout and virtuous people were left to weep over tiny coffins or stillbirths.

If God had a plan, Mary could not see it.

"Are you feeling well, Lady Mary?" Kitty's voice intruded on her thoughts. The younger girl was doing her best to behave in a dignified manner, as befitted one who was lady-in-waiting to the Queen, but Mary could tell that she was restless with travelling. She held Beau in her lap, tickling the lap dog and stroking his silky fur. "Do you have a headache?"

Anne looked up from her quiet conversation with her sister at that, a concerned expression on her face. "Would you like to stop for a break, Mary?" She asked. "If you need fresh air…"

"I'm fine – Your Majesty." Mary tacked on the honourific after a moment's pause. Even after almost a year and a half in Anne's service, she was still uncomfortable with addressing her as a Queen ought to be addressed, the way she used to hear people address her mother, in happier days, before Anne returned to England to cast her shadow over their lives. Perhaps Joan was right that she should practice referring to Anne as Queen in private, to better accustom herself to having to honour her as such to her face and to speak of her as Queen before others, but she could not bear to give up the one place where she had the freedom to speak her mind, where she didn't have to pretend that Anne was Queen and she was a bastard. "I don't need to stop."

"Alright." Anne didn't look entirely convinced, but she didn't argue either, something Mary was glad of. She hated it when Anne expressed concern for her health, particularly in front of others, both because she sounded genuine – and perhaps she truly was worried; as one of her ladies-in-waiting, Mary was in her charge, after all – which made Mary look sullen and resentful when she did not respond to that concern, and because Mary was uncomfortably conscious of the fact that she often deceived Anne, and others, by feigning illness. "If you feel unwell later, please tell me."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Mary responded, as though by rote.

Part of her wished that she had declined Anne's invitation to accompany her to Eltham but, for the most part, she was glad that she was to have the chance to see her half-siblings, particularly Elizabeth, whom she still remembered fondly from her time at Hatfield and whom she wished could see that she was not the wicked person that Elizabeth was taught to hate, and little Edward, towards whom she felt especially protective.

Like her, Edward was an outsider among the family. He might not have been ordered to Eltham to act as a servant to Harry, as Mary was once ordered to Hatfield to wait on Elizabeth – not even Anne and her father would command that a child of four should be humiliated like that – but she could well imagine that his status as a bastard was being made plain to him, just as the little boy must surely realize that, while Elizabeth and Harry were doted on by their father, he was ignored, even though he was as much the King's child as they were.

Her situation and Edward's weren't entirely comparable, of course; she was being cheated out of her rights as the Princess of England, the only legitimate child and heir of the King's, while it could not be denied that Edward was a bastard, but like her, the little boy was exiled from their father's good graces, ignored in favour of Anne's children. She was also luckier than her youngest half-brother in the sense that, while she could cherish her memories of the time when she was her father's darling, his perfect princess and the adored pearl of his world, Edward did not have the consolation of such warm memories of their father, who never saw him.

His father was only a name to him.

If Mary stood higher in her father's favour, if he loved and honoured her as his daughter, even if he was not prepared to recognize her right to the title of Princess, the first thing that Mary would do would be to encourage him to welcome little Edward to court and to recognize him as his son, and honour him as such, for the sake of the child's future security.

Although the Emperor had not interceded on Mary's behalf in a long time, making no moves to exert pressure on her father to restore her as a Princess, or even to release her from her obligation to serve in Anne's household, the fact that she was the cousin of such a powerful man still gave her a measure of protection, something that was denied to Edward, as the Seymours were not rich, powerful or even high in the King's favour. Without a sign of their father's favour, Edward would be regarded as nothing at court, a situation that was bad enough when he was a small boy but that would be much, much worse when he was a grown man, one who would have to make his way in the world.

Even being a companion to Harry might not afford Edward much, if any protection and favour in the future. Harry was devoted to his mother, adoring her more than he adored any other person in the world, even their father and Elizabeth, something that Mary could see every time she saw her half-brother and his mother interact, so if Harry thought that it would upset Anne to see him showing favour to his half-brother when he was King, he would be guided by her, refusing to honour Edward or to treat him as a brother should be treated.

Little Edward would need a friend, and Mary intended to be one to him.

* * *

Everybody was wearing his or her finest clothes, and their nurses and governesses fussed over them, making sure that they were neat and tidy, ready to greet the King and Queen.

Lady Bryan was aghast when she saw that Robert's hands were grubby and she commanded him to go to the chamber he shared with Guildford at once, so that he could wash his hands. He was sent back twice more before Lady Bryan was satisfied that he was clean.

Edward was glad that he had passed the governess' inspection, just as he was glad that she had decided that he was to be permitted to be downstairs when the King and Queen arrived, so that he too might greet them. Mistress Jones had made sure to carefully press his best blue velvet suit, the one that she said looked very nice with his fair hair and blue eyes, the night before and she had given him a bath too, washing his hair. He was clean and tidy now, without so much as a wrinkle in his suit, and Mistress Jones said that, no matter what else the King thought of his son, he would never be able to deny that he was a handsome boy.

She wasn't usually a woman who kissed or hugged him very often, even though she was his nurse since he was a very small baby, but before they left the chamber he and Lord Hall shared, she gave him a quick hug, being careful that she did not rumple his suit, and gently told them that he didn't need to look so worried. He was a good boy, a boy that any father should be proud to call his son, and as soon as the King saw him, he would know this and love him for it.

Edward hoped that she was right.

He wanted his Papa the King to be proud of him and to love him, the way people said he loved Elizabeth and Harry, but he also hoped that the Queen would like him too, and that she would see that he was a good boy and that she shouldn't be sad that he was the King's son.

Elizabeth and Harry's clothes were the finest of all, of course, because they were the Prince and Princess, and Lady Bryan had directed that when the King and Queen arrived, they would be standing at the front, with her and with Kat, so that they might be the first to greet the King and Queen when they arrived, and so that any ladies and gentlemen who accompanied the King and Queen to Hatfield could pay their respects to the royal children.

The rest of them must stay back until the King and Queen had greeted the Prince and Princess, and they were to be very quiet so that they did not disturb the reunion of the royal family. Lady Bryan would beckon them forward when the time came, so that they might be presented to Their Majesties, but until then, they were to be quiet and not draw attention to themselves.

Anybody who misbehaved would be in trouble once the King and Queen left.

Edward would have liked to be permitted to stand in front with Elizabeth and Harry but he was glad that he was at least allowed to be downstairs instead of up in the nursery.

When they heard the clatter of hoof beats, they thought that it meant that the King and Queen were on their way and everybody stood up very straight and brushed their clothes but they needn't have worried; it was just a soldier, one who said that he had ridden on ahead to let them know that the royal carriage would be there soon. He said something else to Lady Bryan, in a low voice so that nobody else could hear what he was saying, and when Lady Bryan heard his words, Edward saw that she frowned and her lips became very thin.

She came over to him then, reaching out to take his hand in hers and started to lead him out of the great reception room, towards the stairs.

"Lady Bryan?" Kat was puzzled by the other woman's actions. It had taken her some time to persuade Lady Bryan that it would be better for them to have Edward downstairs when the King and Queen arrived, reassuring her that, if she saw that the King did not want to have the little boy present, Kat could discreetly take him away while Lady Bryan entertained the King and Queen and she had thought that she had succeeded in persuading her. "I thought we..."

"The King is not coming today – he has a cold and cannot travel." Lady Bryan explained in a clipped tone. "The Queen will be here shortly, and I must get Lord Edward out of sight before she arrives. I'm going to bring you back up to the nurseries, Lord Edward, so that you can play with Mistress Jones," she told the little boy, trying to sound cheerful for his sake and to remind herself that the poor child could not understand that, although the circumstances of his birth were placing her in an awkward and unpleasant position, she bore no ill-will to him personally. He was just a child, and none of this was his fault, but she could not risk offending the Queen.

"Did the Queen request..." Kat began, knowing that if orders had been sent, there was nothing that she or anybody else could do except obey them.

"Her Majesty did not need to send a message." Lady Bryan insisted. "She will expect me to know what to do – and she will be here any minute. Come along, Lord Edward."

"Why can't Edward stay?" Elizabeth objected. Whatever Lady Bryan thought, she couldn't imagine that her Mama would be angry if she saw Edward. Elizabeth never saw her being unkind to any child and, even though Lady Bryan might be afraid that it would make Mama angry to see somebody who was Papa's child but not hers, Elizabeth didn't think that that made sense; the Lady Mary was Papa's daughter but not Mama's, after all, and she had also tried to hurt Mama before, but Mama still allowed Lady Mary to be part of her household, as one of her own ladies-in-waiting, and she even said that Elizabeth and Harry should be nice to her.

"The Queen, your mother, will not like it if Lord Edward stays, Princess Elizabeth." Lady Bryan told her. "We don't want anything to make her visit unpleasant, do we?"

"I don't want Mama to be sad, Lilibet." Harry spoke up softly, putting his plump hand on his sister's arm before she could object any further, or demand that Edward should stay.

As though taking Harry's words as permission, Lady Bryan led Edward away, up the stairs and down the corridors to his chamber. Mistress Jones was surprised to see them there but Lady Bryan did not give her a chance to ask why Edward wasn't staying downstairs with the others.

"The King will not be coming today, after all, Mistress Jones." She explained. "Please keep Lord Edward upstairs while Her Majesty the Queen is here, and see to it that he does not make too much noise." She handed Edward over to his nurse and swept out of the room before Mistress Jones could object to the idea of her charge being excluded like this.

Edward felt like crying, and even though Mistress Jones was very kind, sitting down and taking him on her knee so that she could hug him, and even though she told him that he mustn't mind, that it was only for this one visit, when it was just the Queen, and that he would be allowed to be downstairs next time, when the King came, she couldn't make him feel better.

For the first time in his life, he wished that he wasn't the King's son.

If he wasn't the King's son, then he wouldn't be at Eltham Palace now. He would be living with his Mama and with Sir William in their home, playing with Will, Cecily and Margaret, Sir William's children, instead of with Elizabeth and Harry and all the others, and nobody would send him away when important visitors arrived.

He was a big boy, and big boys weren't supposed to cry, but that did not stop him wishing that he was with his Mama again instead of here where the Queen didn't want to see him.

Once Edward was safely returned to the nurseries, Lady Bryan hastened back downstairs so that she could take her place by Prince Harry's side in time for the Queen's arrival.

They did not have to wait long.

Within five minutes of her return, they heard the unmistakeable sounds of a carriage crunching the gravel of the drive as it neared the door, and mere moments later, the great double doors into the reception room were opened and one of the grooms announced the visitor: "Her Majesty the Queen!"

Anne had barely crossed the threshold into the room when Harry darted towards her, evading Lady Bryan's attempts to restrain him so that he could greet his mother properly, and she knelt down to his level so that he could run into her arms. Elizabeth gave her little brother a rather withering look, executing a perfect, graceful curtsey, as though to show him that this was how he ought to behave in the presence of the Queen, but when Anne held out one arm to her, Elizabeth did not hesitate before running into her embrace.

"Look at you two!" Anne exclaimed, kissing them both. "Harry, I think you've grown at least an inch, and Elizabeth, you get prettier every time I see you!" Although Elizabeth's hair was blonde when she was small, Anne could see some reddish glints in it now, gleaming like bronze threads amid the pale gold of the rest of her hair.

Henry was right that their daughter would be a beautiful woman when she was grown.

"We missed you too, Mama." Elizabeth told her, Edward temporarily forgotten in her joy at seeing her mother once more.

Harry didn't say anything, but he put his arms around Anne's neck and hugged her tightly, before planting a kiss on her cheek. He wanted to be able to tell her that he was very sorry that she was sad when Edward was born, and to see reassurance that she was happy now and that Papa had stopped doing the wicked thing with other ladies, but he didn't know how he should say it.

"Your Papa is very sorry that he can't come today, but he doesn't want you catching his cold." Anne explained, guessing that they must be very disappointed not to see Henry. "But he asked me to give you this," she kissed Elizabeth's cheek first, then Harry's, "and this and to promise that we will come to see you again, very soon." Releasing her children from her embrace, but keeping hold of their hands, she smiled in acknowledgement of Lady Bryan's deep curtsey, listening to her assurances that Elizabeth and Harry were well – which Anne could see for herself – and that they were both settling in at Eltham and doing very well with their lessons.

"We really like it here, Mama." Harry told her. Hatfield was a very nice place to live but he already knew that he liked Eltham better. "We all do."

"I'm glad, sweetheart." Anne told him, smiling as her ladies made their curtsies to the children, even the Lady Mary. She was glad to see that, while Elizabeth and Harry didn't smile at their half-sister, as they did at Anne's sister and at Kitty, neither of them voiced an objection to Lady Mary's presence. She hadn't forgotten what Mary did when she was pregnant with Harry, but she didn't want her children dwelling on it, or cherishing hatred towards Mary for it.

It couldn't help any of them.

At her signal, Mistress Kat ushered Annie forward so that she could greet her mother, and Anne nodded to indicate that her sister could take her daughter so that they could talk privately. Although Mary always said that she was happy to have her daughter living with Elizabeth, Anne preferred to facilitate her sister and her niece spending as much time together as possible when they came to visit.

She called to Kitty next, and her young cousin stepped forward, Beau cradled in her arms. When Anne whispered an instruction to her, she beamed, nodding her head eagerly before setting Beau down so that she could run off to obey Anne.

"Do you want to introduce your new friends to me?" Anne asked her children, scanning the row of faces in front of her. Annie was with Mary, and even though she had never met any of the other children before, it was easy to pick out the Brandon twins; they were so alike that it was impossible to mistake their relationship. The other three all had dark, curly hair and brown eyes, so it was easy to guess that they were the Dudley siblings. She smiled automatically as Harry and Elizabeth introduced her to each of their companions in turn, and as each child made his or her bow or curtsey, but she was conscious of the fact that there was one face missing.

There was no sign of Henry's son.

Elizabeth squeezed her hand a little, as though she could guess what Anne was thinking, and even though Anne didn't look at the Lady Mary, she could sense the young woman's stare boring into the back of her head, and she could imagine what Mary must be thinking, that she was glad to see that Edward was missing so that she didn't have to see the little boy.

It was strange; on the way to Eltham, she had spent most of the journey trying to decide how she ought to deal with the issue of young Edward, not knowing whether she should ignore him, or if she should single him out for special attention as he was, after all, her stepson, or if she should choose the middle path and treat him exactly as she treated the other children who acted as Elizabeth and Harry's companions, no better but certainly no worse. She originally intended to be guided by Henry's response, since Edward was his son but her wasn't here, and even though she had wrestled with the idea of how she ought to behave around Edward, now that the little boy wasn't here, and she was given the option of ignoring his absence and avoiding the decision, she knew exactly what it was that she had to do.

"Where is Lord Edward, Lady Bryan?"

It was clear that the question took Lady Bryan by surprise, and she gaped at Anne for a few moments before stammering a response. "He is upstairs, Your Majesty, in the nurseries."

"Is he ill?"

"No, Your Majesty." Lady Bryan would have liked to say that he was, to avoid any unpleasantness, but she knew that Harry could easily contradict her if she did, exposing her lie to the Queen and making things worse for her.

"Then why isn't he down here, with the other children?" Anne asked pointedly. "Did His Majesty send orders?" Henry was still so repentant about his affair with Jane and about the fact that Edward was conceived in the first place, she knew that without being told and, in many ways, she was glad of it, as she suspected that it was one of the reasons why he had not taken a mistress since, not in the almost five years since Harry was born, and she could imagine that he could easily have sent instructions that his son was to be kept out of sight, thinking to spare her pain.

If that was the case, then Lady Bryan could not be blamed for following his orders, nor could Anne countermand them, but it meant that she would need to speak seriously to Henry about what should be done about his son. It wasn't right that a child of four should be made to feel ashamed of the circumstances of his birth, and it was not something she wanted done for her sake. If he was going to live at Eltham, then they had a responsibility to him and they needed to ensure that he was safe, happy and well-treated.

She needed to make that clear.

"No, Your Majesty," Lady Bryan answered, thinking for the umpteenth time that it would have been much easier for her if the King had sent orders, letting her know where she, not to mention little Edward, stood. "I thought that it would be best if..."

"You were wrong." Anne told her coldly. "Go upstairs and bring Lord Edward down – at once! And never do anything like this again, do you understand me? I will not have a child living under this roof hidden away like a dirty secret, and if you think that I would ever want that, you are mistaken!" Her voice rose as she reproved the other woman, and at the end she was almost shouting. It felt like years since the last time she lost her temper, with anybody – and it had certainly been years since she had had any real _cause_ to lose her temper – but right now, she felt like berating the governess... and herself.

Would Lady Bryan have leapt to the conclusion that she would expect them to keep Edward out of her sight if she had not witnessed Anne's exchange with Mary years ago, when Elizabeth was a baby, and heard the instructions that, unless she specifically requested that the Lady Mary should be present, her stepdaughter should be kept out of her sight? What reason had she, or Henry, given Lady Bryan to make her think that the situation with Edward was different?

"Well?" She asked sharply, when Lady Bryan remained frozen where she stood, making no move to obey. "What are you waiting for?"

"Nothing, Your Majesty." Lady Bryan curtsied before hastening out of the room. She almost collided with Kitty on her way out but didn't even seem to notice.

Kitty hurried over to Anne, leaning close to her ear so that she could whisper to her that the surprise she had planned for the children was unloaded, ready to be brought in at her command. When Anne gave her assent, two liveried footmen carried the large, oak trunk in between them.

"What's that, Mama?" Harry asked, his eyes wide. "Is it something nice?" He didn't really need to ask the question, he knew that; his Mama and his Papa always brought nice presents for him and for Lilibet every time they came to see them, so he could make a shrewd guess as to the trunk's contents, but he still liked to ask.

Anne gave her son an indulgent smile. "You'll see – we'll wait until Edward is here before opening it." She added, stroking Harry's cheek with a gentle finger.

To her surprise, Harry frowned at the mention of his half-brother, and he crooked a finger, indicating that she should bend down so that he could whisper in her ear. When her head was level with his, he leaned close to her ear to whisper. "Will it make you sad to see him, Mama?" He asked, his voice warm with concern. "I don't want you to be sad." He put his arms around her neck and hugged her tightly, kissing her cheek.

Anne hugged him in return. "It's alright, sweetheart." She reassured him. "I'm not sad about it."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, wanting to protect his Mama from anything that might make her unhappy.

"I'm sure." She told him, rising in time to see Lady Bryan return with Edward.

At the governess' prompting, Edward bowed deeply, but he hung back shyly, unsure whether or not he was allowed to approach her.

Anne let go of Harry and Elizabeth so that she could go over to Edward. She knelt down to his level, holding out a hand to him and smiling encouragingly when he tentatively placed his hand in hers. He was very like Jane, she could see that at a glance; he had her blond hair and her pale complexion and blue eyes but there was a slight, though definite resemblance to Henry in his features. "Hello," she said gently, "how are you, Lord Edward?"

"Well, thank you, Your Majesty." Edward responded. When the Queen led him over to the other children, and to the trunk in the centre of the room, he willingly followed.

All nine children crowded around excitedly when the trunk was opened, revealing the assortment of toys that Anne had ordered in preparation for her visit and, within a matter of moments, they were happily debating over who wanted which toys, the earlier awkwardness over Edward forgotten. Kitty Howard was almost as interested in the toys as the children were, and Anne and Mary Stafford were at hand, in case any squabbles broke out.

Only the Lady Mary stood apart from the group, wanting to join them but, at the same time, unwilling to. Her gaze was focused on Anne, watching her stepmother drawing a shy Edward into the group and encouraging him to pick out toys that he liked. Of all the ways that her stepmother could have reacted to Edward's presence, she had not expected _this_.

* * *

Henry wasn't in bed when Anne got back, which wasn't surprising. Her husband was always gentle and tender with her when she was unwell, fussing over her and cosseting her, insisting that she should rest and sending for Dr Linacre for every minor ailment, but when he was the one who was under the weather, he did not like to allow it to affect his life too much. He was reclining on a couch in his apartment when she entered, and he greeted her with a broad smile, rising to kiss her in welcome.

"How was your journey, sweetheart?" He asked, hugging her gently. "And how are our children?"

"They're well." Anne told him. "Harry's getting bigger every time I see him, and Elizabeth is so beautiful."

"I'm not surprised; if she inherits half your looks, my love, she'll be a beauty."

Anne smiled at the compliment before continuing. "They're both doing very well with their lessons too – their governesses and tutors think that it's good for them to have other children in the schoolroom with them, they're really enjoying the company."

"That's good." Henry said, pleased.

Anne waited for him to ask about Edward, or even for him to make a general enquiry about how all of their children's new companions were settling into Eltham if he wanted to disguise his special interest in his son, for fear of upsetting her if he asked about Edward directly, but he said nothing.

"Your son is doing very well." She said pointedly.

"Is he, sweetheart?" Henry said, but he didn't ask any further questions about Edward, whether because he didn't want to upset her, even though she was the one to bring up the little boy, or because he genuinely wasn't interested in his son.

Either way, she didn't like it.

"He's a sweet boy, Henry." She said, refusing to let the subject drop. They needed to deal with it now, not later, and decide what they were supposed to do about Edward. If Henry didn't intend to pay any attention to his son, then it might be kinder to send Edward back to live with the Seymours, among a family who would care for him, rather than keeping him at Eltham where he would undoubtedly be hurt if he saw that his father preferred Elizabeth and Harry to him. "And he's bright too. I think that you'll be very proud of him when you see him."

Henry wasn't sure what he should say to her. Anne could be difficult to read some times, and this was one of them. He couldn't tell whether she wanted him to say that he was looking forward to meeting Edward again and to thank her for taking an interest in the boy and seeing him, or if this was a test of some kind, that she was speaking of Edward in the hopes that he _wouldn't_ show an interest in what she was saying or pursue the topic with her, so that she would know that she did not need to worry that their children's places in his heart were threatened.

Not knowing what he should say, he merely nodded slightly, murmuring something inaudible.

"Don't you want to meet your son, Henry?" Anne persisted, not satisfied with his mute response.

"I don't need to, my love." Henry said reassuringly, mistaking the reason for the edge to her tone and thinking that the best thing to do was to downplay the issue as much as possible, so that she would know that she didn't need to feel unhappy or threatened in any way. It was his fault that they were in this situation, his fault for agreeing to go away with Jane that day, and although he couldn't go back and undo it, make sure that he stayed in the palace while Anne brought Harry into the world, but he could make sure that Anne didn't suffer any more over his mistake than she had already. "I have Elizabeth and Harry, they're enough for me. I don't need Edward."

"He needs you." She responded simply.

"Anne..."

"He's just a little boy, none of this is his fault. I don't want us to make this mistake again."

There was so much of what had happened over the past decade that she wished that she could do differently but, more than anything else, she regretted the way she treated Mary, and the way she allowed Mary to be treated. She might not have been the one who decided that Mary should be forced to go to Hatfield to wait on Elizabeth but she hadn't voiced an objection when Henry announced his intention to do so, even though she had her misgivings about it. She could have said that, as Mary had been brought up as a Princess for her early years, it would be wrong to force her to wait on the new infant Princess of England, even if Mary was illegitimate but she didn't. When she offered to bring Mary back to court and reconcile her with Henry, she could have made her offer an unconditional one but instead she attached a condition that, deep in her heart, she must have known that Mary would be unwilling to accept.

Later, she even came to view it as a threat to her interests and Elizabeth's when Henry temporarily moved Mary from Elizabeth's household, afraid that if he began to show affection to his eldest daughter once more, he would remember how much he once loved her and that that love would prove to be more powerful than the love he had for her or even little Elizabeth.

Maybe it would have made no difference, one way or the other, regardless of how well or how poorly she tried to treat Mary, but Anne couldn't help but wonder whether Mary would have been as willing to go along with Brereton and Chapuys' plots against her if she had made a point of treating her stepdaughter with kindness and respect, regardless of whether or not Mary accepted her as Queen or if she insisted that that title was one that belonged only to her mother.

"Sweetheart, the last thing I want is for you to be unhappy." Henry told her, stroking her hair. As brave as Anne was being about this, it had to hurt her to know that he had fathered a son with another woman and he wasn't going to make it worse by making a fuss over young Edward.

"I'm fine, Henry." Her voice was firm. "Edward is your son, and I can deal with that. Promise me that when next we go to Eltham, you'll talk to him, and get to know him."

"If that's what you want..."

"It is." Anne responded at once. "I don't want you to ignore him. Not for me."

She had handled the situation with Mary poorly when she and Henry were married, and when Elizabeth was a baby. She wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.

* * *

It was raining outside but Mary was glad of that, as it meant that almost all of the courtiers were inside the palace, safely out of reach of the rain, and she could walk outside in peace, without having to worry about people watching her every move, speculating in ill-concealed whispers about her appearance and the ever-diminishing likelihood of her restoration to some semblance of honour within the royal family. If she was inside, she would have her own chamber as a refuge from the courtiers but Joan would be there, and Joan would see at a glance that she was upset and, even though she would do as she was told if Mary commanded her to leave, she would want to know what was going on and wouldn't be satisfied until she was told.

Mary wasn't even sure that she knew.

Almost a year and a half in Anne's service had forced her to live at close quarters with the woman who had blighted her girlhood.

Even when she was living in the safe, cosseted surrounding of Ludlow Castle, attended by a household of devoted servants and guarded by Lady Salisbury who, in the absence of her mother, acted as her protector and carer, she was aware of the shadow that Anne's presence was already casting, even though she heard little about the specifics of Anne's involvement in the situation that was then brewing at court, the situation that everybody at Ludlow was speaking of.

When she first overheard servants' gossip about how the King was seeing to set Queen Katherine aside, believing his marriage to be invalid, and about how this would mean that, instead of being the Princess of Wales, Mary would be a bastard, she could not believe it at first. Even when she questioned Lady Salisbury and her governess reluctantly admitted that it was true, she wasn't unduly worried. Even if her father had doubts about the marriage, and she didn't see why he should, the bishops and Cardinal Wolsey would be able to tell him that he didn't need to worry and that there was no reason why he should doubt the validity of the marriage or think that his daughter wasn't a princess.

Back then, Mary had no idea that her father was motivated less by qualms of conscience than by his desire for Anne, who was able to guess that if she withheld her affections, she could gain more from him than she would from a short-lived liaison.

She would never have imagined that, instead of her father being genuinely concerned about the validity of his marriage, and praying that the bishops would tell him that his marriage was good, he wanted them to tell him that his marriage was invalid so that he could marry Anne, and he didn't care that the price for marrying her would be the happiness of the woman who was his faithful, loving wife for many years, and the future and position of his own child.

With hindsight, Mary was glad that she hadn't known when she was a child.

It would have broken her heart to think that the father who doted on her was willing to callously sacrifice her for the woman who played on his desire for her to win the greatest prize of all, declaring that the price of her virginity was nothing less than the Queen's crown.

When she was a little older, and learned more about the role Anne was playing in the King's Great Matter, she heard those around her speak contemptuously of Anne, as a temptress or even a witch, and she could easily believe what they were saying. Why else would her father be willing to go to such desperate measures to win Anne when there were so many other women who would have been more than happy to become his mistresses, if he needed to satisfy his desires outside the marriage bed?

She might have been young, and her mother and governess might have done their best to shield her from knowledge of such things, to preserve her purity of mind, but Mary was not stupid, nor was she entirely ignorant of worldly matters. She knew well that, even though it was right and proper for a woman, especially a high-born lady, to remain a virgin until she married and to be a chaste wife afterwards, not everybody abided by those rules. There were some who would be willing to be the mistress of a man, especially if that man was a King, and there were even some husbands who would be prepared to turn a blind eye to their wives bedding the King, as long as they could reap material rewards from their infidelity.

With all those options available to him, the only reason she could think of that could explain why her father had remained so besotted with Anne, willing to satisfy any condition she named as long as he might possess her if he did, even if it meant breaking a marriage made before God and disinheriting the rightful Princess as a bastard, unless he was bewitched into thinking that this was truly what he wanted.

The worst part was that Anne had won.

Despite the confident predictions of Lady Salisbury that the court would find in favour of the Queen, or that the King would come to his senses before it was too late, and put a stop to this nonsense, sending Anne back to Hever with her family and bringing the Queen back to court, where she belonged, this had not happened. Mary's father had stood by his course of action, deciding to defy the pope and bigamously marry Anne when His Holiness did not deliver him the verdict he wanted, when he wanted it, and he had not looked back, not even when the pope finally made a decision, and found in favour of Mary's mother, declaring that Mary herself was the King's lawful daughter, born in wedlock and the true, legitimate heir to the throne.

He determinedly called Anne his wife, and demanded that others do so, and when Elizabeth was born, he declared his newborn infant daughter the heir to the throne, cutting Mary out of the succession and out of his life, banishing her to Hatfield as a servant in order to please Anne.

When Mary finally came face to face with Anne, she half-expected that she would see a mole, or perhaps even an extra finger, witch's marks that Anne was rumoured to possess, and she was disappointed to see that she was a beautiful woman. She would have preferred it if she was ugly, as that would have given her certain proof that Anne was a witch, one who had made a compact with the Devil in order to ensnare the King, but with a beautiful woman, the possibility that her natural charms had won her the King's love could not be dismissed.

Anne wasn't kind to her when they met at Hatfield.

She did offer to reconcile Mary with her father, but on her terms, not Mary's. Unless Mary repudiated her mother and denied her own rights, Anne would do nothing for her, and was likely to work against her rather than in her favour, discouraging any inclination that the King might have to reach out to his daughter and welcome her back into his life.

Anne must have known when she made the offer that Mary would never be willing or able to accept it, and even if Mary had accepted, Anne would have been disappointed that her bluff was called, obliging her to fulfil her end of the bargain and speak to the King on her behalf... wouldn't she?

She was kind to Edward, Mary couldn't deny that. She hadn't ignored him or spoken sharply to him or hinted to Lady Bryan that the little boy should be humiliated for his bastard status and treated with less kindness and consideration than was accorded to the others, quite the reverse.

Why had she done this?

Mary couldn't understand it, and she doubted that she would have any peace of mind until she had puzzled this out and understood Anne's motives.

Why did Anne have to be such a living contradiction?

It was as if Mary was serving several mistresses at once. There was the temptress who broke up her parents' marriage for the sake of her own ambition, the woman who wore the Queen's crown and who was accorded all of the dues of that status but who had no true right to that title. There was the woman she saw in the mornings with her father, basking in his love and returning it in kind, and who was one half of a loving couple. There was the loving, devoted mother who adored her children and who was fiercely protective of them, whose face lit up every time she was with them but who was likely to be quiet and low in spirits for days after they left. There was the frivolous woman who spent a fortune on clothes and jewels, who staged masques and entertainments on the slightest pretext, and who insisted that her ladies should attend lessons in music and dancing, but that same woman also spent a great deal of time sewing clothes for the poor with her ladies, and did a great deal of charity work.

Who was Anne Boleyn?

Mary used to think that she knew the answer to that question, and it was certainly not a flattering one, but now she wasn't sure what to think.

"My lady! Lady Mary!" She heard a voice call out to her and stopped, turning to see Charles Howard running towards her. As soon as he reached her side, the young man tugged off his cloak and offered it to her with a bow, a concerned expression on his handsome face. "Please wear this, my Lady Mary." He asked her. "You shouldn't be out in the rain like this – Kitty told me that you get a lot of colds and coughs. You should come inside, where it's warm."

"I think I'd rather stay out here, Master Howard." Mary responded grimly, not wanting to go to either her own chamber or, worse still, Anne's quarters.

"Oh." Charles was aware of the fact that he wasn't an especially intelligent youth – his uncle told him as much on a fairly frequent basis – but he wasn't a fool either, nor was he insensitive, and he could see from the expression on Mary's face that something was troubling her. "Is something wrong, my lady – if there is, I'd like to help you, if there's anything I can do." He couldn't help but feeling pity for Mary, who always seemed like such an outsider at court, not fully belonging to either the royal family or to the general court, and who seemed so unhappy at Whitehall. If there was anything that he could do to help her, he would.

Mary managed a half-hearted smile. "It's kind of you, Master Howard..."

"Charles, please, my lady." He cut in hastily.

"Charles." She amended. "There's nothing you can do."

"I can listen." He offered quietly. "I'm one of ten children, my lady, I've had lots of practice listening to my brothers and sisters when they need to talk about something, and it can help, truly it can."

"You love your brothers and sisters very much, don't you?" Mary said wistfully. Kitty sometimes told stories about the mischief she and her large family of siblings got up to when they were small, and she could imagine what it must have been like to grow up amid a noisy, jolly family of brothers and sisters. When Kitty spoke of the poverty of her family, Mary wondered at God's ways; to Lord Edmund Howard and his lady, who were so poor, He gave ten healthy children to feed, clothe and educate but to the King and Queen of England, who had more wealth than they could know what to do with, he gave only Mary, a single daughter, never answering the prayers for a healthy brother for her.

"I do."

"I barely know my brothers and sister." Mary lamented quietly. "When Elizabeth was very small, I used to play with her and sing to her, whenever I had the chance, but she doesn't want anything to do with me now, and I barely know Harry and Edward."

"They're a lot younger than you are, my lady. The age difference is a big one." Charles remarked diplomatically. If Kitty was here, he could imagine that his sister, who had difficulty controlling her tongue at the best of times and even more difficulty where her adored Queen Anne was concerned, would point out that, since Mary had once tried to poison Anne, she couldn't expect that Anne's children would want to have anything to do with her, but he knew better than to say something like that. If he did, Mary wouldn't be willing to say another word to him and, in any case, he found it difficult to believe that she could have done it. "When they're older, it won't feel as pronounced, so maybe you'll be able to know them better then."

"Maybe." Mary allowed, although she wasn't convinced.

"How are the Prince and Princess anyway, and Lord Edward? You went to see them today, with Kitty and the Queen, didn't you?"

"Yes, and they're well." Mary responded, her tone flat and dull.

"Did something happen at Eltham, my lady?" Charles asked. Kitty was in high spirits when she returned, but Kitty was almost always in high spirits, so that told him little.

"She was kind to him."

"My lady?"

"The Queen." Mary felt as though there was a sour taste in her mouth when she referred to Anne as Queen, but the title could not be omitted, especially before Anne's kinsman and a member of the Duke of Norfolk's household. "She was kind to Lord Edward."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

Despite her glum mood, Mary couldn't keep herself from chuckling at the bewildered expression on Charles' face. "I suppose so, it's just... you know, when we arrived, Edward wasn't even downstairs with the other children. Lady Bryan, the Lady Governess there, decided that it would be better to keep him upstairs in the nurseries, so that he could be kept out of sight while the Queen visited her own children, and the Queen was the one who ordered that he should be brought down. Not a lot of women in her position would have done that." She mightn't like Anne, but Mary was fair-minded enough to acknowledge that the situation with Edward had to be difficult for her. "She could have just ignored it, and pretended that she didn't notice that he wasn't there. God knows that there wouldn't be many people who would blame her for it – even the King wouldn't hold it against her if she didn't want to see his son by another woman – but she made them bring him downstairs, and she was kind to him when she saw him."

Kinder than Mary's mother was to little Henry Fitzroy, in some ways. Mary knew that her mother would never be unkind to any child but she had not wanted to welcome Fitzroy to court, and she had objected to the idea of him being invested with the titles of Duke of Richmond and of Somerset, and Earl of Nottingham. Mary couldn't imagine her mother playing games with Fitzroy the way Anne had with little Edward.

"That was very nice of her, under the circumstances." Charles remarked, feeling that he ought to say something to break the silence but unsure where Mary was going with her train of thought.

"I suppose it was." Mary acknowledged. They reached a stone bench and she saw down on it, not caring that her clothes were getting wetter still. Charles sat down next to her, watching her with concern, although he maintained a respectful distance from her. Even though her father called her a bastard, she was still the King's daughter and the young men of the court all knew that they should not presume to be overly familiar with her, not if they valued their lives. "She tried to make an offer to me one." She continued, after a few moments' pause, remembering Anne's offer and the way she turned it down. "She offered to welcome me to court, and reconcile me with the King if I would accept her as Queen."

"But you refused." Charles did not need to be a genius to know this; if Mary had accepted, then she would surely have been welcomed back to court sooner, and treated with more honour than she was at present.

"I did." Mary confirmed. "My mother was alive then, but we were kept apart – if she heard that I had agreed to accept Lady Anne as Queen... it would have broken her heart to hear it. I couldn't do it. I told her that I wouldn't do it. Not that it did me any good." She remarked wryly.

Instead of her stand winning her her dues as the Princess of Wales, and showing her father the error of his ways, she had gained nothing from it. Her father and Anne managed to wear her down, forcing her to take the Oath out of fear for her safety, and even then, instead of being welcomed back to court and treated with honour and deference as the King's daughter, she was a servant to Anne. She couldn't help but wonder what her lot would be like now if she had accepted Anne's offer then; back then, it would have been of enormous benefit for Anne to be able to point to Mary and say that even the daughter of Katherine of Aragon knew that her mother was not and never had been Queen of England, and that the Lady Mary accepted that she was illegitimate while Princess Elizabeth was the rightful heir to the throne. She would probably have seen to it that Mary was comfortably housed and reasonably well attended, as the King's natural daughter, so that she could make a show of being kind to the daughter of her rival.

"Maybe I would have been better off if I said 'yes' to her back then." She hadn't meant to say that aloud and she didn't know if she wanted to hear Charles tell her that she would have been better off if she had yielded to Anne's request when she had the chance, and won her way back into her father's good graces then, instead of enduring so many years of exile from court, or if she wanted him to tell her that she had been absolutely right to refuse.

"You can never know for certain, my lady, and you can't change what happened." Charles pointed out sensibly. "Wondering can't do you any good, it can only cause you pain."

"I suppose you're right." Mary agreed quietly. She could spend the rest of her life wondering; about what would have happened if even one of her mother's sons had lived, about what would have happened if Anne had never returned from France, or if she had not been blessed with little Harry, or if her father had seen sense and restored her to her rightful position, but Charles was right when he said that it wouldn't change the past. Nothing could change the past.

For better or worse, the world she lived in was the world she had to deal with.

"Does the Queen... is the Queen kind to you, my lady?" Charles asked tentatively. He knew well that this was not a question that he should ask; the Queen's conduct was not for him to criticize, of course, she needed only to please the King and herself, but he was concerned for Mary, and hoped that his cousin was at least being kind to her stepdaughter, as she was to her stepson. He knew that there was no point asking Kitty about it; she was so utterly devoted to Anne that she would be unable to conceive of the idea that the cousin who was so kind and so generous to her would be anything other than kind and generous to Mary and she was likely to take umbrage at the mere suggestion that Anne might be unkind.

"About as much as I could expect, I suppose." Mary conceded grudgingly. After so long spent in Anne's service, she could recognize that Anne was no happier or more comfortable with the arrangement than she was, and knew that this could only mean that her father was the one who had directed that Mary should be one of Anne's attendants, and that he was the one who would decide when – or if – she was to be released from her service as a lady-in-waiting. "In a way, I'd rather that she wasn't." She said, being more frank than she had intended to be, forgetting for a moment that she was speaking to a Howard. "It's so frustrating to be expected to be grateful for little acts of kindness when, if not for her, I might still be the Princess of Wales." She only realized what she was saying when the words were spoken and she paled at the thought that the young man sitting next to her might run to his uncle or his cousin to tell them what she had said.

"I won't say a word, Lady Mary." Charles promised, guessing what it was she was afraid of. He was silent for a few moments before he continued, in a reflective tone. "But I don't think that you should blame the Queen for everything that happened – the King is the King, after all. If he wants something, who can say 'no' to him? And if he _doesn't_ want something, who can force it on him?" He asked rhetorically. "I don't mean to speak a word against His Majesty, of course," he added hastily, "but maybe Queen Anne didn't play as big a part in this as some people think she did."

His point was a fair one, more so than Mary cared to admit.

She desperately wanted to believe that Anne was the person she ought to blame for her current woes for the simple reason that, if Anne was not the one truly responsible for all the damage that was wrought over the past years, if Anne was not the one who had instigated the break-up of Mary's parents' marriage and led to Mary being downgraded to a bastard, it meant that her father was the one who had done these things.

He had had the power.

If he did not want to cast the woman who loved him so faithfully aside and insist that she had never been his wife, nobody could have forced him to. If he did not want to declare his daughter a bastard, he didn't have to do it. If he did not want to sign countless death warrants for those who refused to transfer their loyalty from Mary and her mother to Anne and Elizabeth, who could have forced his hand? Anne could coax, plead, argue and nag but she was not the King and, ultimately, the decision would not have been hers.

Mary didn't want to think that way.

It would have been much easier and much more comfortable for her to absolve her father of all responsibility and place the blame squarely on Anne's head but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was wronging Anne by doing so. She didn't want to believe that her father was the one who freely chose the path he would follow and that Anne, like everybody else, had simply had to go along with his choices, even if she did not agree with them.

She was glad when the rain began to fall more heavily, allowing her to leave this conversation, which was quickly becoming uncomfortable, without having to respond to Charles' words. She rose from the bench, taking his cloak from around her shoulders and passing it back to him. "Thank you, Charles, but I had better give this back to you." It would certainly do her no good if she, or even Joan were seen carrying back a cloak to Charles' chamber, and even if she enlisted Kitty to bring the cloak back to her brother, she would be letting herself in for a lot of excited, good-natured but still uncomfortable queries about how, exactly, she had come to borrow it. "And we had best not return to the palace together."

"Whatever you wish, my lady." Charles said, accepting her cloak with a bow, a slightly deeper one than the male courtiers usually made to her. When Mary turned to walk away, he called her name. "Lady Mary!" When she turned back to look at him, he bowed again, taking her hand in his and kissing it. "If you ever need to talk to somebody, my lady, you can talk to me... I'd be happy to talk to you if you want." He felt awkward and tongue-tied and he gave her a smile, hoping that she would see that he meant what he said and that he truly would like to be there for her, if she needed him. "You seem like you could use a friend, my lady, if you'll forgive me for saying so."

"There's nothing to forgive." Mary smiled, touched by the first open, honest offer of friendship she had had in quite some time. "I think you're right, and I would be honoured to have you as my friend."

They parted ways, he to return to his uncle's suite and she to go to her own chamber, where she could dry her hair and change her gown.

Mary's heart felt lighter than it had in a long time as she walked back.

If she could count on having a friend, then her life at court would become much more pleasant and that was certainly not something that she could afford to reject.


	33. Chapter Thirty-Two

**_17th May 1541_ **

Visits to Eltham Palace were permitted.

She knew that, if the King had been unwilling to allow her to see Edward once he decreed that his son's upbringing and education were to be entrusted to other people, she would still have had no choice except to obey his commands when the order was given for her son to be brought to Eltham Palace to be brought up in the royal nursery with his half-siblings, even if it meant that it might be years before she could see her child again, but it made it easier when she knew that she could come to see her son instead of having to keep apart from him. It would have been devastating for her if she had to leave her son to the care of the attendants who cared for Anne's children, never able to go to see him in person and be reassured that he was safe and happy.

There were certain conditions.

She could not visit Eltham Palace unless she wrote to Sir John Shelton, steward of the royal children's household, in advance and arranged a date on which she might travel to Eltham to see her son, a date that would be arranged around the nursery routine, any planned visits from the King and Queen and any visits that the royal children might make to Whitehall Palace. She could not stay overnight, so her visits would only last a few hours at a time, as she would have to travel there and back from Sir William's manor within a day. She could not visit when the King or the Queen were expected at Eltham and, if one or both of them made an unplanned visit while she was there, she would have to leave at once, as discreetly as possible, and she must not, under any circumstances, presume to approach them to speak with them.

She was sure that the last prohibition was Anne's idea, easily able to imagine that, despite the fact that Anne had won and the King had been faithful to her since Harry's birth, and that the King was determined to make sure that their children were honoured as his heirs, while Edward's bastard status, and that of the Lady Mary, were made plain to everybody in order to bolster Harry and Elizabeth's positions, Anne still wasn't prepared to take the risk of allowing the King to come face to face with a woman who was once her rival for his love, a woman she once feared might displace her and who was the mother of his son. She must have known that, if the King spoke to Jane, they would find common ground over their son, whom the King could not fail to love once he saw him.

Who better than Edward's mother to speak to the King on his behalf?

The King would certainly not want to speak of something so close to his heart as his own little son with a woman who, if she had her way, would have preferred that Edward was never conceived and would certainly not make any suggestions about how his position in life might be improved.

Anne would not want to see a son of the King's who was not born of her singled out for honour and favour, raised to the highest ranks of the peerage and awarded estates that would make him a wealthy man. If Edward was permitted to come to court, she would see to it that everybody knew that he was coming there as a bastard, and a bastard who enjoyed less favour than the last royal bastard to bear the name of Fitzroy had during his brief life.

She would be as zealous about ensuring that the royal prerogatives that Harry enjoyed remained his exclusively instead of allowing Edward to be treated with the same near-princely honours that Henry Fitzroy once enjoyed, as she was about ensuring that Princess Mary would be downgraded to the status of a bastard so that she could not challenge Elizabeth's place as Princess, and about seeing to it that Queen Katherine was hounded into accepting the title of Dowager Princess of Wales so that her own right to the title of Queen would not be disputed.

However, she might not be able to prevent it forever, not when the King got to know Edward.

Once he met Edward, he would love him, deeply regretting the fact that he had missed out on four years of his son's life for the sake of deferring to Anne's feelings on the matter, and he might want to speak to his son's mother. Even Anne couldn't keep a father from loving his son, especially when that son was as beautiful, sweet and clever as their Edward, or from cherishing warm feelings towards the mother of his son, wanting to see to it that Edward was honoured as a King's son should be, while Jane was treated with all kindness and respect.

He owed no less to his son and to his son's mother.

Only a small handful of people were present to greet her when her carriage was driven into the courtyard but she was disappointed to see that none of them were of high rank within the household. She had hoped that Sir John Shelton would be the one who would come out to greet her, as he would greet all highborn visitors who were permitted to call on the royal children before he conducted them into the palace set apart as their nursery residence, but he did not appear, evidently deeming her to be unworthy of him bestirring himself to be there to receive her when she arrived. The groom who was to conduct her inside sketched a shallow bow in her direction before leading the way into the palace, signalling that she should follow him.

"Lady Bryan will receive you, Lady Herbert." He told her politely as he showed her through a long corridor hung with rich tapestries, to what Jane assumed was Lady Bryan's apartment. "And Sir John will be able to speak to you later, if there are any questions that you wish to ask him." He explained. When they reached their destination, he knocked on the door, waiting to hear Lady Bryan call out to them that they might enter before he opened the door, stepping back to allow Jane to precede him into the room, and announcing her. "Lady Herbert is here, Lady Bryan."

Jane made a shallow curtsey, in deference to Lady Bryan's advanced age and to her exalted role as Lady Governess to the Prince of Wales, smiling shyly at the older woman, but she was disconcerted to see that Lady Bryan did not return her smile or show any sign of welcome.

Instead, she scrutinized Jane with cold, appraising eyes, silently measuring her up, and Jane wondered what Lady Bryan might have heard of her in the past. As the other woman was not only closely connected to the royal children, having had the care of them both from their early infancy before she began to care for Harry exclusively while Elizabeth got another governess so that Lady Bryan might devote all of her time to the precious male heir, but also related to Anne by blood, as the half-sister of Anne's mother, Lady Elizabeth Howard, she probably kept herself appraised of all developments at court that would affect Anne and Elizabeth, as her place was tied to their positions. She must have heard the speculation that Anne's star was falling rapidly over five years ago, and that, if she was set aside, Jane, who had won the King's love away from Anne but refused to become his mistress, was the one most likely to take her place.

How had Lady Bryan felt about that?

Did she believe that Anne was the true Queen of England, and that the child she had charge of was the true princess or did she know, in her heart, that Queen Katherine was the King's rightful wife until the day she died, even if it suited the Boleyn and Howard families to claim otherwise, so that they might benefit from Anne's place as Queen, and know that Princess Mary was the King's only legitimate child and the true heir, and recognize that if the King set Anne aside after Queen Katherine died, and married another woman, that woman would be the King's lawful wife?

Did she fear for her own position, and worry that her kin would lose their advantage, or did she feel that it would be the best thing for England if the King realized his folly and made a true marriage after Queen Katherine died, recognizing Princess Mary as his legitimate daughter, as was her right, and moving on with his life as though Anne had never entered it?

Looking at Lady Bryan, Jane decided that this was not the case.

If Lady Bryan had heard of her, she would have cursed her for threatening Anne and would have been praying that the King would tire of her as soon as possible and send her away from court.

As Anne's kinswoman, Lady Bryan, like so many of the Boleyns and Howards, had benefited greatly from her rise, gaining the position of Lady Governess through her, a post that earned her the gratitude of the King, who took a keen interest in Harry and Elizabeth's upbringing and who was generous to their carers, and was likely to earn her further, greater rewards in time. She had heard from her brother Thomas, an acquaintance of Lady Bryan's son, Sir Francis, that the governess was confidently expecting that, when Prince Harry turned six and passed from her care into the care of the gentlemen who would act as his governors, as befitted the heir to the throne, who could not remain in the care of women all of his life, her loyal service to the little boy and to his sister would be rewarded with a generous pension, and that she might even be made a baroness in her own right, with her son also reaping the benefits of royal favour.

She would never look kindly on one who had put her family's claim to royal favour in jeopardy.

To Lady Bryan, Jane would always be the woman who had tried to supplant Anne and who, if she succeeded, would have caused Elizabeth to lose her title of Princess so that Mary could regain it.

Had things been different, Jane would be coming to Eltham Palace to visit Prince Edward, Prince of Wales, and the governess would be greeting her with all due deference, falling over herself to ensure that Jane was honourably received and that everything possible was done to ensure her comfort, instead of looking at her so coolly and appraisingly, as though trying to puzzle out what kind of woman would have become the King's mistress when his wife was heavily pregnant, with her health in serious jeopardy and her chances of carrying her child to term very slim because she had witnessed her husband embracing another woman, and how Jane could ever have believed for a moment that the King would ever consent to take her as his bride, and generally behaving as though it was a great privilege and concession for Jane to be allowed to enter Eltham Palace and be received by the Lady Governess to the Prince of Wales, as though it was not her right to come to visit her own son and to find out how he was from those who had the care of him.

She could deal with hostile attitudes.

When she first married Sir William, more than one of the servants at his manor, servants who had served his first wife loyally, were appalled to think that their master would marry a woman who was once the King's mistress and the mother of his bastard son, and a few of them took no pains to hide that fact, staring at their master's bride with open scorn and behaving as disrespectfully as they dared towards her but Jane had ignored them, refusing to allow their behaviour to cow her into behaving like an interloper in her home, and the household had soon settled down, accepting her as their new mistress and realizing that if they wished to keep their posts, they would have to treat her with the same respect with which they had treated the previous Lady Herbert.

Lady Bryan could not make her feel ashamed of her past, ashamed of the circumstances of her son's birth or embarrassed to be at Eltham Palace. Jane wouldn't let her.

"Lady Herbert," Lady Bryan's tone was cool but polite as she addressed her. "I hope that your journey was not a difficult one." Without waiting for an answer, she continued. "I am sure that you are eager to hear how your son is faring, and I am pleased to tell you that Lord Edward has settled in at Eltham, and is doing well. He has begun his lessons with Dr Cox, the Prince's tutor, and is learning to read and write." She frowned slightly at that, and Jane guessed that Edward, who had not had a tutor before coming to Eltham Palace, and whose nurse lacked the education to begin his preliminary lessons with him so that he would have made a beginning on them before he was promoted to the schoolroom, was not as advanced as the other children were at his age, but that was no fault of his. It was the King who had not sent somebody to educate their son earlier, and her brother's fault for not making arrangements for Edward's schooling when the King did not. Had she had charge of Edward instead of being sent to marry Sir William, she would have taken care of it. "However, Dr Cox tells me that he is working hard and making good progress."

"He's a very clever boy, Lady Bryan, and eager to learn." Jane said, proud of her son.

Lady Bryan nodded. "You may be reassured that Lord Edward is being well cared for, befitting his station." She continued, making her report in a business-like tone and not pausing to let Jane ask any questions, though she could see that the younger woman looked ready to leap on her words and to demand of her what Edward's status was at Hatfield, wanting to know whether he was being treated with honour as the King's son or taught to be humble because he was a bastard, fortunate to be permitted to reside under the same roof as the Prince and Princess, and that it would be arrogant for him to think that he deserved to be treated with more honour than he was. If she wished to discuss Lord Edward's status, she would have to write to the King's secretary. "Like the young lords who are to share the Prince of Wales' education, he is being taught to ride a horse and, when the time comes, he will learn fencing and other sports. He will be given an education appropriate for a young gentleman of noble birth, and I hope that he benefits from it."

"He will." Jane stated firmly. Edward was a clever boy, a boy who would work hard and who would be eager to please, and a boy who had royal blood running through his veins, making him a Tudor, even if he bore the name of Fitzroy. He could not fail to grow to be one of the noblest young gentleman if he was afforded the opportunity of the kind of education appropriate to a boy of his status, and he would be a man whose father and mother would have just cause to be proud of him, and who would be an asset to the royal court, when he was old enough to live there.

Perhaps, in time, he would be an ambassador, or a member of the King's Privy Council, a man of high status who enjoyed the favour and trust of his father and sovereign, and who would be able to help his mother's family advance at court. The King would surely recognize Edward's talents when he was older, and give him the chance to utilize them in royal service, and if Anne did not teach her son to hate his half-brother because he was not his mother's son, Edward would surely be able to advise Harry wisely when the time came for the latter to rule.

She could picture Edward as his brother's right hand man, a power behind the throne.

Lady Bryan's expression softened and she smiled at Jane, for the first time.

"You will want to see your son, I am sure, and your time here is short. I will send a message to Dr Cox, asking that Lord Edward be excused from lessons, and you will also wish to speak to Mistress Jones." She said, knowing that Edward's nurse, a woman Jane would know already, and who had the primary care of Edward, would be the one who was best able to tell him everything about Edward's progress. Jane was not the first parent of one of the royal children's companions who had come to visit, so Lady Bryan was well versed in what was best to do for such visits.

"Thank you." Jane said, excited at the thought of seeing her precious boy again and pleased that she would also be able to speak with Mistress Jones who, having cared for Edward since his infancy, could be trusted to give her a full and frank account of how he was faring at Eltham, filling her in on details that Lady Bryan, and even Edward himself, might prefer to conceal.

The seconds seemed to creep by while Lady Bryan called for a page to take a message to the schoolroom and to Mistress Jones, and while they both waited for Edward to be brought down. When Mistress Jones led Edward into the room by the hand, he began to run to his mother as soon as he saw her, delighted to see her again after the long months of separation, but he stopped, checking his enthusiasm, and greeted Lady Bryan with a small bow, remembering the etiquette that was painstakingly drilled into him after he came to Eltham.

"Good morning, Lady Bryan." He told her politely, receiving an approving smile in return.

Lady Bryan liked all of the Prince and Princess' companions to remember their manners with her, Mistress Champernowne and Dr Cox, and especially with the Prince and Princess.

"Good morning, Lord Edward. Your mother has come to pay you a visit." Lady Bryan told the little boy pleasantly. "I have told her that you are a good boy, and that you have worked hard at your lessons and behaved well since you came to live with us. Dr Cox and I are pleased with you, and I am sure that your mother is proud of you." She saw Edward flush with pleasure at her praise, plainly delighted to have pleased her, and then she turned her attention to Jane. "I will leave you alone to talk." She said, before leaving the room so that they might have some privacy.

"It's good to see you again, Lady Herbert." Mistress Jones said, bobbing a curtsey.

"And you." Jane told her, reaching out to ruffle Edward's fair hair. "I hope that you have been a very good boy for Mistress Jones, my precious boy." She told him, although she was sure that this was the case. While she had taken care to teach Edward to be proud of his royal heritage, wanting him to feel pride in the fact that he was the King's son rather than shame over his illegitimacy, she knew that he was not arrogant about it, as so many noble children were about the station in life to which they were born, and he was always respectful and obedient towards his nurse.

"I have, Mama." Edward assured her solemnly.

"Lord Edward has behaved very well." Mistress Jones vowed, smiling fondly at her little charge. It was hard for a little boy to be without his mother and she was happy to see Jane. "He's a hard worker in the schoolroom, even Dr Cox says that he is – he's already outstripped the younger Master Dudley, Guilford, Dr Cox tells me, and he'll soon have caught up with Lord Hal, I'm sure."

"The Prince is the cleverest of us boys." Edward reported, his eyes shining with admiration as he spoke of his half-brother, whom he considered to be the nicest of all of the boys at Eltham. "Except for Robert but he's a lot older so he doesn't count. The Prince can already speak French very well, and even some Latin, and he can read and write and do his sums very, very quickly. The Princess is very clever too." Privately, Edward was of the opinion that Princess Elizabeth was the cleverest child at Eltham, maybe in all of England, but, young as he was, he sensed that it was better not to suggest that anybody, even Princess Elizabeth, was cleverer than the Prince of Wales, even when he was speaking with his Mama and they were almost alone.

"The Prince is older that you are, Edward, almost a year older." Jane pointed out, not liking the way Edward was speaking of Harry and Elizabeth. He sounded almost reverent, as though he was speaking of saints or archangels rather than his own siblings, children of almost five and seven and a half years old whom he should be able to regard as his equals. But for a twist of fate, Edward might be the Prince and they the bastards, and she was sure that she would have encouraged her son to treat Anne's children as near equals if he was the one who enjoyed the royal status they enjoyed. "That's why he is more advanced at his lessons than you are. You'll soon catch up with him, and maybe learn even more quickly than he does."

Edward nodded in response to this but he looked doubtful, unable to imagine that a time might come when he would be able to outstrip the Prince of Wales in anything.

"Has the King come to see you yet?" Jane asked, hoping to see her son nod confirmation, and to hear him tell her about how kind the King was to him when he came to Eltham to see him, to tell her that the King had singled him out to show him attention and affection. However, Edward remained silent and, after a moment, Mistress Jones spoke up for him.

"His Majesty was to visit at the beginning of March, Lady Herbert, but he was taken ill." She reported, easily able to imagine that her news would come as a great disappointment to her former mistress, who was understandably anxious to have her son recognized and received by the King, to make it clear that the King welcomed his son and viewed him as a blessing, a boy to be honoured and cherished, rather than as a burden that, if he could repeat his actions, he would prefer was never born to disrupt his life. For that reason, she deemed it prudent not to mention the way Lady Bryan had assumed that Edward should not be present when the Queen arrived alone, and how the governess had contemplated the idea of keeping him away, even when she believed that the King would be coming, for fear of offending the Queen and angering the King. "Affairs of state have kept him busy since then, so they tell me, so he has not been here since."

"I see." Jane's lips thinned. She had hoped that, while the King might have kept his distance when she and Edward were living at Wolf Hall because he believed that it would be too painful for Anne to know that he was seeing her again, even if the visits were innocent, once he was told that their son had arrived at Eltham, he would lose no time in coming to see him, wanting to see how much he had grown and changed since the first time he saw him but perhaps he had wanted to be careful not to show too much attention to Edward, at least at first, for fear of offending Anne, if she thought that he was being overly eager to see the son of her rival, or of undermining the positions of his children by her if he showed too much favour to his son by another woman.

"But Lord Edward is to be permitted to go to court with the other children for the celebrations in honour of the Prince of Wales' birthday, and His Majesty has said that he may be presented to him and to the Queen when he arrives at court." Mistress Jones said, eager to give Jane good news. She was delighted when Lady Bryan told her, and she thought that Jane would feel the same way.

"As a father should receive his son." Jane told her sharply, objecting to Mistress Jones' tone, rather than to the news she related, which was very welcome. The way she was speaking, anybody would think that it was a great concession for the King to agree to receive Edward at court, or for Edward to be allowed the same privileges as the other children who acted as Elizabeth and Harry's companions were granted without a second thought, as though Edward did not have the right to expect at least that much from the man who had helped to bring him into this world.

The King had fathered Edward and he should not allow himself to forget what was due to his son, even if he had not wanted to continue his relationship with Jane. Mistress Jones should know that.

Did the woman to whom she had entrusted the care of her precious only child forget that Edward did not need to feel any shame over the identity of his father, and believe that, as a bastard, he should count himself fortunate to receive whatever small favour the King was willing to show him?

Didn't she know that he deserved more, and that he was just as good as Elizabeth and Harry? But for the fact that they had a mother who was ambitious enough to be willing to supplant a Queen and render a Princess a bastard so that she might sit on the throne and see a child of hers rule England, Elizabeth and Harry would never be called anything but bastards.

At least Edward could know that his mother would never have sought to displace a _rightful_ wife or to make her child a prince at the expense of the true heir to the throne.

"It's alright, Mama." Edward's voice was whisper-soft, and the words he spoke broke Jane's heart. "I know about the wicked thing, and I know that I'm not the King's proper son."

"Edward…" Jane couldn't believe her ears.

"That's why I'm just Lord Edward Fitzroy instead of being a Prince, like Prince Harry, isn't it?" Edward did his best to smile and to sound brave, not wanting his Mama to be unhappy or to think that he was angry with her because she had him when she was not married to the King and made him be born as a bastard instead of a Prince, but he couldn't keep a slight quaver from entering his voice as he remembered the way Robert had spoken of the wicked thing Mama did.

It hurt to think that his beloved Mama did something wicked.

"Who told you that?" Jane asked, feeling angry tears welling in her eyes. "Did Lady Anne… did the Queen…" She corrected herself hastily, knowing that she would have to accord Anne the title of Queen here, or take the risk that somebody might be eavesdropping, and that they would be only too delighted to report that the mother of the King's illegitimate son denied Queen Anne her title, and her mind was awhirl with questions. Had Anne, resenting Edward for the circumstances of his birth and for the fact that the King had commanded that he was to have a place in the royal nursery with her own children, taken her spite out on a little boy by telling him that he was a bastard, the product of wickedness, in the hope of distressing him.

Could even Anne be so cruel to a four year old child?

"No, Mama, the Queen is very kind to me." Edward assured her quickly. He did not want to bear tales like a baby and he had promised Robert that he wouldn't tell anybody what he had said so he didn't want to tell her who had told him the reason why he wasn't a prince but he knew that he couldn't let her think that the Queen was the person who told him when she wasn't. It would be as bad as telling a lie if he let Mama believe the wrong thing without telling her the truth. "She made Lady Bryan bring me downstairs when she came to visit," he added, wanting to move away from the subject of who told him why he was a bastard in case Mama asked about the other children, and he had to tell her the truth. He didn't want Robert to scorn him as a baby who told tales to his Mama. "She gave me some very nice toys, didn't she, Mistress Jones?"

The hobby horse was his favourite but he was grateful for all of his gifts, and relieved that the Queen wasn't upset to have him around because of the wicked thing his Mama and the King did.

"It's true, Lady Herbert." Mistress Jones seconded Edward. "The Queen was kind to Lord Edward and she even sent some money for a new suit for him, for when he goes to court." While the nurses of the other children were sent money for their personal needs, including their clothes, from their families, who were determined that their children should be well provided for, especially now that they were living in a royal palace and needed to show their families' wealth and status, no money was sent by Edward's uncle or by either of his parents, and she was worried about what she could do to see that her young charge would be dressed as his station demanded when the time came for him to be presented to his father, afraid that she would be blamed if he appeared before his royal father in a shabby state, at her wit's end to decide who she ought to approach for money for new clothes until Sir John brought her a purse from the Queen.

Whatever else anybody might say of her, she was being as kind to Edward as could be expected.

Mistress Jones knew that it was the King's right to seek pleasure outside his marriage bed when he saw fit, just as she knew that her small charge's mother should not be condemned for becoming the King's mistress in the same way that she would be if another man had fathered her child out of wedlock, when it was an honour to share the King's bed if His Majesty invited her to, but it could not be easy for the Queen to see her husband's bastard at Eltham and Mistress Jones felt that she deserved credit for the fact that she was so considerate of Edward's welfare, thinking of things he needed that others, people on whose support he had a greater claim, would forget.

Jane forced herself to smile at her son when she saw his pale, anxious face looking up at her. She didn't know why Anne was showing kindness to Edward, did not know if she was attempting to make the King think even more affectionately of her than he did already by making a show of kindness towards Edward to please him or if this was Anne's way of highlighting the fact that she had won, that because of Harry's birth, Jane had lost her chance to be Queen and, instead of being a Prince, as he might have been, Edward was just a bastard and dependent on the charity she chose to show him, but whatever the other woman's motives for behaving generously towards the little boy, she was glad that she was not venting her spite on Edward.

If Anne was willing to be kinder to Edward than she was to Princess Mary, it was a blessing.

When Mistress Jones slipped out of the room to give her a chance to speak to Edward alone, Jane scarcely noticed her departure, her attention was focused on her son.

She sat down on a couch beside the window, letting Edward climb into her lap and smiling sadly when she felt how much heavier he was than the last time she held him thus. Although he was a small baby at birth, he grew rapidly and was tall for his age now – an inheritance from his father, she was certain of that – and very handsome. It would not be more than a couple of years before Edward considered himself too big a boy to sit on his mother's lap and receive her kisses and hugs, and before she realized it, he would be a tall, strapping youth, one whose scholastic achievement would be a marvel and who would be as fine an athlete as his father was when he was a young man and the handsomest Prince in Christendom.

Time was passing too quickly for her liking.

The minutes skipped by as she and Edward chatted together, he regaling her with stories of the games that he played with his half-siblings and of the adventures that he and the other children had when they rode out on their ponies, carefully supervised by the grooms who taught them to ride, and about which lessons were his favourites and which ones were the most difficult for him, pressing her for her account of how his stepfather, stepbrother and stepsisters were faring.

"Will I be able to come to visit you soon, Mama?" Edward asked hopefully. His uncle didn't like for him to go to visit Mama and Sir William but he wasn't living at Wolf Hall any longer so he hoped that this meant that the rules would be changed so that he could stay with his Mama and stepfather sometimes. He had never even seen the place where his Mama lived now, and he almost never got a chance to play with Sir William's children, who were almost his brother and sisters because their Papa was married to his Mama and who were lots of fun to play with.

Jane shook her head sadly. "I don't think so, sweetheart." She told him gently, taking his small, plump hand in hers and stroking the back of his palm with her thumb, knowing that this would be disappointing for Edward and wanting to comfort him as much as she could. "Your father, the King, wants you to live at Eltham Palace so that you can learn your lessons with the Prince's tutors." She explained. "He won't want you to miss any of your lessons, because he knows how important it is for you to study hard and learn everything they teach you, so you will be a clever man one day."

"Oh." Edward was disappointed but he tried to smile bravely. If his Papa the King thought that it was important for him to stay at Eltham to learn, he would obey him. A bell rang, signalling that it was time for dinner, and Edward sprang to his feet, tugging his mother's hand gently. "That's the bell for dinner, Mama." He told her. "Come quickly, so you can meet the Prince and the Princess before we eat." He wanted his half-siblings, along with the other children, to meet his Mama so that they could see for themselves that she was a good and kind lady.

He didn't want to leave any of them to think that she was wicked.

Jane hesitated. She had not intended to meet Anne's children, and found the prospect of having to pay her respects to them as Prince and Princess far from appealing, as she truly believed that they could not claim those titles but she could see from the hopeful expression on Edward's face that he badly wanted for her to meet his half-brother and half-sister and she could not bear to disappoint him by refusing. "I'd like that." She lied, allowing him to tow her towards the Great Hall.

As she had expected, Harry and Elizabeth were sitting at a table on the dais, on high, ornately carved chairs that resembled thrones. A richly embroidered canopy of estate was hung above them, highlighting their royal status and, even from the entrance to the Great Hall, Jane could see that the plates, goblets and cutlery laid before them were of finely wrought gold.

It was clear that, despite their youth, there was no royal honour that was denied to them.

She kept her eyes modestly downcast as Edward led her towards the dais, aware that there would be rampant, whispered speculation about the reception that a former mistress of the King could expect to receive from his heirs, and knowing that many of those who watched her enter the Hall would be wondering at her temerity, astounded that she should dare appear before the Prince and Princess, even if she was the mother of their half-brother, when all of England knew that she had sought to win their father's love away from their mother. For her part, Jane did not fear a disrespectful reception. Given the youth of Anne's children, it was unlikely that they knew much about her relationship with the King and, even if they knew more than children their age should know, they were schooled in courtesy since babyhood and would not be rude openly rude.

When they neared the dais, Edward let go of her hand and hurried ahead, bowing deeply. Jane was impressed by the grace of the gesture, grace she considered remarkable in a little boy of just four, even if she hated to see her son humbling himself thus before Anne's children. "May I present my Mama to you, Your Highnesses?" He asked hopefully, looking from Harry to Elizabeth.

Harry looked to his sister for her answer, which she gave in a regal tone. "You may."

"Thank you!" Edward hurried back to take his mother's hand again, and draw her a few steps closer to the dais. He bowed again, seeing out of the corner of his eye that she swept them a deep curtsey. Although he rose after making his bow, his Mama didn't. Since she was being presented to the Prince and Princess, she could not rise until they told her to. She had lived at court once, so she knew all of the rules without having to be told what she was supposed to do. "Allow me to present my mother to Your Highnesses," he began formally. "This is Lady Herbert."

Jane knew that she might have imagined it but she could have sworn that Harry hesitated a few seconds longer than was customary, keeping her bent in her obeisance, before he gestured for her to rise. When she rose from her curtsey, the little boy wasn't regarding her with malice, only with curiousity, but she knew that Harry's mother would be only too pleased to see Jane abasing herself before her son and daughter like this. It would explain why she never ordered that Jane should not be permitted to meet them, if she had hoped that, when Jane visited Edward, she would have to pay her respects to Harry and Elizabeth. "I am honoured, Your Highnesses." She told them.

Elizabeth was gazing at her with large, expressive eyes, Anne's eyes, studying her so intently that Jane felt chilled to the bone, even though the day was warm.

It was ridiculous for her to think that Elizabeth might remember her, much less that she might understand the significance of the role Jane had played in her father's life five years ago, when Anne's position, and therefore that of her little daughter were still uncertain and when there was a very real possibility that Anne might be set aside so that Jane could take her place, with Elizabeth declared a bastard, downgraded to the courtesy title of Lady and removed from the succession so that Princess Mary might regain her royal status. Elizabeth was not even three years old then, little more than a baby, but Jane couldn't help but wonder if she might have understood and remembered more than anybody would ever dream she could.

The young girl sitting before her was very different to the toddler she remembered, the toddler on whom the King had lavished an ever-increasing amount of his attention and affection as Anne's delivery date came closer and closer and the possibility that Elizabeth would have a baby brother became stronger and stronger. Her hair was now red-gold, and she sat tall and straight in her chair, as poised as any princess. Her gown was a lavish one, embellished by beautiful embroidery and trimmed with pearls and even small diamonds that winked in the sun, a gown that looked as though it cost more than the King sent for Edward's upkeep in a year when he still lived at Wolf Hall. Her hair was crowned with a dainty circlet of pearls set in gold filigree. Anne had very extravagant taste in clothes and jewels, and she clearly indulged her only daughter in that respect.

When Elizabeth addressed Jane, her tone was perfectly polite but with a cool edge to it, one that Jane could not help but recognize. "You are welcome, Lady Herbert." She told her, though her tone suggested that she was far from pleased to have Jane in her presence or that of her little brother. "I know that Lord Edward has been looking forward to your visit for some time now." She gestured to the table immediately below the dais, at which her companions and Harry's were already seated. "You must dine with us. You will be hungry after your journey, I am sure."

"Thank you, Your Highness." Jane dipped another curtsey to Elizabeth in acknowledgement of the invitation, and a slightly deeper one to Harry.

She couldn't keep herself from picturing Edward seated in Harry's place, below the canopy of estate, or keep herself from wondering why God would have given Anne this handsome, healthy boy, a boy whose resemblance to the King would not allow anybody to express so much as a whisper of doubt about his paternity, even if they were brave enough to dare to question whether the prince the King delighted in was his son, when Harry's birth had kept the King from extricating himself from his union with Anne so that he could restore Princess Mary to her rightful place and remarry, fathering a son who was truly legitimate and would bear the title of Prince by rights.

The small boy sitting in front of her, looking down at her as she made her curtsey, was just an innocent child but one who had bound the King to Anne forever, ensuring that there would be no way that the damage done to England's religion could be undone.

Why would God want that to happen?

Jane couldn't understand it.

Feeling as though she was in a dream, she allowed Edward to lead her to her place at the table where the other children were sitting, smiling automatically as he introduced them to her in turn, and accepting a plate laden with food when it was offered to her and throughout the meal, despite her best efforts to focus her attention on Edward, knowing that within a couple of hours, at the very most, she would have to begin her journey back to Sir William's manor, leaving her precious son behind, her gaze kept straying back to Harry, who didn't notice her scrutiny.

However, despite her study of the little boy, she couldn't see any special quality in him, anything that marked him out as worthier of the throne than Princess Mary or her little Edward.

She had no idea why Fate had conspired to make a King of Anne's son.

* * *

"How are your preparations for the masque coming along?" Henry asked Anne as they walked through the gardens, arm in arm, enjoying the early summer sunshine. They had just finished up a meeting with the Privy Council that had lasted for most of the morning, so it was a relief to be outside, discussing the far more pleasant subject of their son's upcoming birthday.

Nan Saville and Madge Shelton walked behind them, though their presence was so unobtrusive that they might have been shadows, hanging back to give them as much privacy as possible.

"Very well." Anne responded, smiling up at him. "The girls who will be dancing are so excited, and they're rehearsing every spare moment they get – I wouldn't be surprised if they were practicing their dance steps in their chambers, after they've gone to bed." She remarked, remembering what it was like when she appeared in masques, first as a little girl in the court of Margaret of Austria, with whom she had been quite a favourite and who had singled her out to play the Queen of the Amazons, later in the French court, whenever Queen Claude was persuaded to allow her maids of honour to take part and then in England, at the masque where she first met Henry. She had always loved to dance, and relished the opportunity to show her skill, so she could easily imagine how excited her own ladies were now. "And the dancing instructor has gone to Eltham to teach Elizabeth, so that she will know her own part and won't need many rehearsals with the other girls when she and Harry come to court. Elizabeth wrote to me to tell me that they've been having a difficult time keeping it from Harry. He knows something is going on, and he's very curious."

"He won't have much longer to wait." Henry said, smiling at the thought of Elizabeth earnestly practicing her dance steps in secret, determined to play her part to perfection when the time came and not to allow a single misstep, while Harry tried to coax her into revealing the planned surprise, knowing that it was connected to his birthday but too excited to wait even a couple of weeks longer to find out what it was. No matter how curious Harry might be and no matter how difficult others might find it to deny him anything, Henry was sure that Elizabeth would have an older sister's immunity to his charms, and would keep the secret. "Is the Lady Mary to appear in the masque?" He asked, thinking that it might be nice if both of Harry's sisters played their part.

The new Imperial ambassador was to attend the birthday celebrations, Henry had made a point of inviting him and his wife to be among the guests of honour, and it would certainly do no harm if he could send word to his master that Mary's position at court was an honoured one, making it clear to him that there was no question of her being mistreated. She was the King's acknowledged daughter, treated with the respect her station commanded, and she had been allowed a place in Anne's household that every noble girl of suitable age would long to be granted.

All in all, Henry felt that Mary was doing very well and he wanted the Emperor to know it.

The Emperor had been reasonable enough about Mary's bastard status over the past few years, finally accepting that his aunt was never Henry's true wife and that Anne was the true Queen. He undoubtedly realized that Mary's position could be much worse, after her past crimes, but one could never be certain when the proud Spanish blood that he, like Katherine, had inherited from Isabella of Castile would lead him to decide to fight for Mary's restoration to the succession once again, and that was something that Henry knew he would never agree to, no matter who asked it of him, so it was just as well that the Emperor should be kept pacified at the moment, especially as Henry still hoped to formalize a betrothal between Harry and the Infanta Juana.

His son's future was too important to be jeopardized over a dispute regarding Mary's status.

Anne shook her head. "No. I asked her if she would like to but she said that her dancing is out of practice, and she didn't want to take the chance of tripping and shaming herself before the court, not to mention spoiling the masque on Harry's special day. I didn't press her."

Henry's mouth tightened. That was a brazen lie on Mary's part and he knew it.

Like all of the Tudors, excepting only his father, who had never taken part in the dancing and who only allowed masques to be performed on exceptionally rare occasions, when diplomacy demanded that visitors be appropriately entertained, Mary was musical and loved to dance. At the tender age of nine, when she was betrothed to the Emperor Charles, she was able to dance with her then-fiancé, acquitting herself as gracefully as any of the ladies dancing that day did, and on the occasions that he glimpsed her dancing these days, he could see that she was still an able dancer, one who could have made a very charming addition to the masque, had she chosen to take part.

Fear of failing and embarrassing herself had nothing to do with Mary's decision to snub Anne's offer, not to mention the birthday celebrations in her little brother's honour.

"I don't know what I am supposed to do with that girl!" He grumbled, a scowl creasing his brow. "I have shown her every kindness since I allowed her to return to court – and that in itself is a concession that she should be deeply grateful for; after what she did, I would have been within my rights to refuse to see her again, and you would have been justified if you said that you didn't want Mary to set foot at our court again as long as she lived – and she still persists in being sullen and difficult, even about a simple thing like a masque. Sometimes I wonder if..."

"It's not easy for her." Anne cut him off hastily, not wanting to let him begin to dwell on the question of whether Mary was sincere when she took the Oath or if she only agreed to its provisions because she knew what might happen to her if she continued in her defiance. Allowing that train of thought could only lead to trouble for Mary, and Anne didn't want that. "I think that she might be worried that it would upset Harry if he saw her in the masque," she suggested, hastening to come up with other, plausible excuses on Mary's behalf and reasoning that Henry was already aware of the fact that, although Harry and Elizabeth had both been more at ease around Mary lately, they were still somewhat wary of her. It would do less harm for him to believe that this was the cause of Mary's reluctance, and that she hoped to make things easier for the children by keeping to the background, than if he believed that she was deliberately snubbing Harry's birthday celebrations. "And she hasn't been very well lately either, so maybe she didn't feel strong enough to dance but didn't want to say so, in case you were worried about her."

She was not stupid enough to believe that each time that Mary's maid came to her apartment to ask her pardon on her mistress' behalf as she was too unwell to attend her that day, her illness was genuine. Some of the complaints were probably genuine enough but, from time to time, she could imagine that Mary, not wanting to face a day of service in her household, seized at the opportunity to feign illness and escape for a day or two, and Anne wasn't about to stop her, especially as these absences were as much as respite for her as they were for Mary.

She was no happier about having Mary as a member of her household than Mary was about having to serve her, although she was sure that Mary would never believe that if she told her.

To her relief, Henry seemed to accept her suggestion without disputing it and his features relaxed, his frown chased away by a smile as he moved on to the subject of Harry's birthday presents. At five, he would still be too young to learn to joust or fence, lessons that would have to wait at least another year, until he had passed from Lady Bryan's care to the governance of his tutor, and when the proper instructors could be engaged for him so that he could learn the sports and practice them safely, without risk of injury to his person, but Henry, remembering his own boyhood, when he had chafed at being confined to the schoolroom when he wanted to be outside riding or taking part in sports, had chosen gifts he was sure an athletic boy would love.

"He's going to be so excited when he sees his new falcon." Henry enthused, knowing how much he would have loved to have been given such a gift on his fifth birthday, instead of the illuminated Book of Hours that his father and grandmother had deemed an appropriate gift for a Prince who was marked for the Church. "I'll let Elizabeth choose hers, and send a falconer to Eltham to teach them both." He and Anne had so many gifts planned for Harry, with some gifts for Elizabeth so that she did not feel left out, that they would have to supply extra wagons to carry them off.

"He will." Anne confirmed, thinking that Henry looked as excited as Harry did. Although he was past forty now, and beginning to show his age, there were times when he looked boyish, which made his resemblance to Harry all the more pronounced. While Elizabeth's resemblance to her was unmistakeable, Harry was Henry in miniature, and would be very like him when he was a man.

They discussed the gifts they planned to present to their children, and Henry agreed to Anne's suggestion that a gift should be given to each of their companions.

"That's a wonderful idea, my love," Henry praised her, thinking that it was just like Anne to want to make the celebrations especially enjoyable for the children who were selected to act as companions to Harry and Elizabeth. "If you pick out something for the girls, dolls or some jewellery or whatever you think they'd like, I'll take care of the boys." He offered.

"Unless you'd like to pick out the dolls while I see to the boys?" Anne suggested mischievously, easily able to imagine how bewildered Henry would be if he was faced with the prospect of having to select dolls for three little girls. Even when it came to Elizabeth's dolls, he had always left the decision to her or else to Lady Bryan or Mistress Champernowne, trusting that they would be better able to choose the best doll for Elizabeth than he would ever be.

Henry chuckled. "I think I'll leave the dolls to you, if you don't mind." He said, pulling him towards her for a kiss. "I love you, sweetheart." He murmured, brushing a lock of hair out of her eyes.

If he said that every hour, of every day for the rest of his life, he wouldn't say it often enough.

"And I love you." She responded, her smile dazzling.

At times like this, when they were together, almost alone, and able to be open with one another, it was virtually impossible for her to believe that there was ever a time when she feared losing his love, a time when every time Henry glanced in the direction of a pretty young woman, her stomach knotted with anxiety at the thought that he might intend to make that woman his mistress or, worse still, his Queen. They were so happy now that she couldn't believe that they hadn't always been this happy, much less that she was once at risk of losing everything.

It might have been a distant, horrible dream... except for the few reminders that remained of that dark time, like the way Jane Seymour's brothers would look at her on the rare occasions when they came to court, as though they would give anything to be able to strike against her, punishing her for the fact that she was still Queen and that their dreams of advancing through their sister were shattered, coupled with her knowledge of the fact that the child Henry had conceived with another woman lived at Eltham Palace with her children, and would soon come to court.

She shivered slightly, and Henry was all solicitousness, wrapping his arms around her and rubbing her back, shoulders and arms gently, to generate warmth.

"Is it too cold for you, sweetheart? Would you like to go inside?"

"No, I'm fine." She assured him, not wanting to leave the sunny warmth of the gardens just yet. Before Henry could press her, to make sure that she was certain that she did not want to go inside, she tugged him in the direction of the ornamental pond, where two swans were swimming in slow, lazy circles, so close together that they never moved more than a arm's length apart.

They heard Beau before they saw him.

The spaniel, who was out for a walk with Kitty Howard, who had eagerly seized on the task when Anne offered it to her earlier in the morning, began to run towards them as soon as he heard his mistress' voice, moving with a speed and a strength that one would not have thought possible with such a small dog, practically dragging Kitty along with him. His huge, liquid brown eyes were aglow with excitement and delight at the sight of Anne, and his tail wagged so fast that it seemed ready to fly off.

Kitty curtsied deeply, Beau's tooled leather lead clutched in one hand. "Your Majesties."

"Is Beau taking you for a walk, Mistress Howard?" Henry asked with mock gravity, reaching out one hand to raise Kitty from her curtsey and doing his best not to laugh at her flustered expression. She was a sweet girl, one whose devotion to Anne he considered admirable and touching, and he would never have jested with her if he didn't know that she would take it in good part. She was not a girl to become either stiff and offended or shy, and he liked that.

Kitty giggled. "He is, Your Majesty." She responded, in the same mock grave tone.

Beau licked Anne's outstretched hand, revelling in her attention as she patted his head and only then was he content to trot back to Kitty's side, ready to resume his walk.

They could hear the sound of voices and, a moment later, Kitty's three companions joined them, the two young men bowing and the young woman curtseying at the sight of the royal couple.

"Master Howard, Master Culpepper." Henry's smile was genial as he addressed the two young men who were among the most athletic members of the court, always acquitting themselves well when it came to sporting events, and Culpepper in particular was an excellent card player, something that had endeared him to Henry when he was first appointed as a groom of the Privy Chamber. His genial tone chilled when he turned his attention to his daughter, and he frowned at her as she rose from her curtsey. "Lady Mary." He greeted her in a clipped tone.

"Your Majesty." Her response was quiet but steady, and she met his gaze as she spoke.

It was on the tip of his tongue to order her to take part in the masque, whether she liked it or not, and he was ready to turn a deaf ear to any excuses Mary might make, and to make it clear to her that he expected her to obey his commands unquestioningly or he would regard it as proof of her disloyalty but Anne seemed to read his mind and realize what he was thinking of, and she squeezed his hand gently, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. It was enough to cool the worst of his anger, and to dissuade him from the course of action he was considering.

Instead, he motioned to the four young people to indicate that they were dismissed, and continued on his way with Anne on his arm and Nan and Madge following close behind.

Shaken and hurt by her father's cold reception of her, Mary was glad of the supportive arm that Charles offered her as they followed Kitty and Culpepper, who were walking at a faster pace, as Beau was too energetic to be satisfied with a slow pace and darted ahead, stopping occasionally to sniff at a plant or stone or even a patch of ground that he deemed interesting.

Had she and Charles been walking out alone, they would undoubtedly have attracted curious and even disapproving stares as they walked, and Mary was sure that her father would have demanded to know why she was walking out alone with any man, even if that man was a cousin of Anne's, and that he would have sharply reminded her that she was a King's daughter and should behave appropriately. The same was true of Kitty and Culpepper, so it suited all four of them to go out walking together, though Mary knew that Kitty believed this to be a kindness on Mary's part towards her, and that she was acting as her chaperone so that her reputation would not suffer.

It did not seem to occur to her that Mary might enjoy Charles' company.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Charles asked her, his voice too low to be overheard by Kitty, who was chattering excitedly, or to Culpepper, whose attention was focused entirely on Kitty.

Mary forced herself to smile but it didn't reach her eyes and, after a moment, she allowed her features to relax into a sombre expression. "I hate the way that he looks at me now." She said softly, matching his low voice, knowing that her words were best kept silent. She might not have spoken of it at all, if she was not so hurt by the cold way in which her father, the man who used to sweep her into his arms every time she saw her, the man who used to tell her that she was the pearl of his world, now treated her. "I had hoped that things would be different by now. I thought that once I took the Oath and he was sure that I was loyal, he would be kinder to me, and treat me with honour, giving me a household of my own instead of making me her lady-in-waiting."

It was dangerous for her to complain openly of the way in which she was treated, and she knew it.

If Joan could hear her, she would be the first to warn her that she was courting danger, that even if nobody else overheard her words, Charles might report them.

When Charles first offered himself to her as a friend, Mary was half-convinced that it was too good to be true, afraid that he might have an ulterior motive for his polite behaviour towards her. He was a Howard, and had come to court in the service of his uncle, so it was easy to imagine that the Duke of Norfolk might have commanded his nephew to seek her out, to win her trust in the hope that she would confide in him, giving him information that his family could use against her.

However, when she had tested him, making a few complaints about serving Anne, and about having only one maid to attend her, her complaints did not seem to be relayed to anybody else, or at least nobody tried to take her to task for what she had told him, accusing her of being ungrateful for the honour and favour that her father had shown her, honour and favour that a bastard should count herself fortunate to be shown, and she began to believe that her trust was not misplaced, that she could speak freely to Charles and trust that her words would go no further.

They slowed their pace a fraction, allowing Kitty and Culpepper to pull further ahead of them, though not so far that either couple might attract unwanted attention, and Mary continued.

"There was a time when everybody in England thought that I was going to be Queen one day." She said, feeling tears well in her eyes. "I lived as a Princess should back then."

In those days, nothing had been too good for her.

She had her own household, even as a little girl, with noble ladies to wait on her and the Countess of Salisbury as her devoted governess. She had sumptuous gowns and jewels and when she went out among the courtiers, they all bowed and curtseyed to Princess Mary, according her the honours that her father insisted that his only legitimate child should be shown by all of her future subjects. She had her mother with her in those days, a steady, comforting presence in her life, her love warming Mary's world like a sun, and she had her adoring Papa, who cherished her.

"How did it all go wrong?" She didn't realize that she had spoken aloud at first, not until she saw the sympathetic expression on Charles' face.

Any other Howard, even Kitty, who was otherwise quite friendly towards her, would have told her, in no uncertain terms, that nothing had gone wrong; on the contrary, the King had set right the state of error and sin that he once lived in with her mother, and she should know that this was something that every man, woman and child in England should rejoice over, even she, who had gone from Princess to bastard when her mother was set aside in favour of Anne.

Charles didn't say that.

He tightened his grip around her arm, so that they were standing closer together, and his voice was sympathetic as he whispered in her ear. "I don't know, my lady." He answered her honestly.

He knew, as his uncle had impressed it upon him more than once, that the Howard family was blessed to have Queen Anne sitting on the throne by the King's side, and for the fact that she had borne Prince Harry, as healthy, handsome and bright an heir as any monarch could wish for but, despite the fact that he knew that having his cousin as Queen of England was perhaps the main reason why he, the son of one of the most impoverished members of the Howard family, was able to come to court, where he would have a chance to make his way in the world, he couldn't help wishing that things could have been different for Mary, that she could lead a happier life.

Surely that was not too much for her to ask.


	34. Chapter Thirty-Three

**_30th May 1541_ **

With the royal children due to arrive at court today, accompanied by their companions, and the celebrations in honour of Harry's fifth birthday to take place in two days' time, the ladies of Anne's household had been kept very busy making preparations for the day, ensuring that their finest gowns were clean and pressed, and that everything was in order for the celebrations.

As the company from Eltham Palace was due to arrive mid-morning, before the court sat down to dine, Anne had wanted to be awake earlier than usual, to ensure that she would be ready to receive her children the moment they arrived. In previous visits, Elizabeth and Harry were brought to her apartment as soon as they arrived, with Henry joining them so that their meeting was an informal one, a moment for their family rather than for the court, but this time, they were to be formally received in the presence chamber, with their companions presented in turn once the Prince and Princess were greeted by their parents and were seated on their miniature thrones by their sides, ready to introduce their companions as they stepped forward.

Part of the reason for this was that Henry was to publicly receive young Edward Fitzroy, signalling to the court that the boy was his natural son and should be welcomed as such, treated with the respect that Henry expected that a son of a King's should be entitled to by virtue of his royal blood. He and Anne believed that the presentation would be less daunting for the little boy if the other companions to the royal children were presented to the King and Queen at the same time, so that he would not have to feel as though he was being publicly singled out.

He was only four years old, after all, and the prospect of meeting the King and Queen before the eyes of the court would be intimidating for him, more so if he was the only one presented. She also had no idea how the little boy felt about his paternity, not knowing if he was proud to be the King's son and would be happy to be singled out as such or if he was ashamed to be a bastard.

How had the Seymours taught him to view his heritage?

They were a proud family, so proud that she was sure that they had hoped that, if she had not borne Harry, she would be set aside so that Jane could take her place, so she imagined that they had tried to teach Edward to be proud of being the son of the King, perhaps telling him that his mother was of birth as good as Anne's, but once he came to live at Eltham Palace, it must have soon become apparent to him that, though he might be the King's acknowledged son, his rank could not compare with that of Harry or Elizabeth.

As Anne sat before her dressing table so that Nan Saville could brush her hair, while Kitty Howard watched, suggesting different hair ornaments and jewellery to compliment her gown, she took several slow, deep breaths to compose herself and prepare for the audience.

Meeting the son that Jane Seymour... or whatever the woman was called, now that she was married... had conceived with Henry in the relative privacy and informality of Eltham Palace, with only the children, their attendants and a few of her ladies there to bear witness to the meeting was one thing, but she was not looking forward to being present while the boy was formally received by his father, despite recognizing the necessity of such a presentation, as it would be the quickest and most decisive way to signal that he should be welcomed and respected by a court that would be curious to learn what welcome they should accord him.

The fact Jane's two brothers, Edward and Thomas, were to be in attendance to see their nephew's debut at court certainly wasn't going to make things easier for her to bear!

They had hoped for more for their sister than for her to spend a short time as Henry's mistress, and the certainly wanted more than for her to be set aside to bear an illegitimate child in secret.

Like all courtiers who were willing to urge their sisters or daughters to attract Henry's interest, they must have hoped that, if their sister pleased him, they would benefit from his generosity and enjoy the spoils of prominent court offices, stewardships and estates, all of which would be showered on them as a reward for the pleasure that their sister gave Henry, but she knew that the Seymours had received virtually nothing, something that they must resent her for, especially if her father was right about them hoping to make a Queen of their wretched sister.

If Harry had not been born alive and healthy... but she couldn't think of that awful possibility.

She knew that few would believe that she was the one who had advocated this meeting, the one who had refused to take the easy way out and hint to Henry that she would be happier if the boy could be left to be brought up by his mother's family at Wolfhall, raised with the degree of comfort and honour due to his birth but kept hidden away from her view, and she never had to hear him spoken of. Her father would have told her that this was the sensible thing for her to do, for fear that her husband might come to love and honour his illegitimate son more than he did their children. Henry would have ignored the boy for her sake, she knew that, even without asking it of him, but she also knew that it would have been wrong for her to make that request.

No child should be forced apart from their parents.

She might never have advocated that Henry should ignore Mary or that he should send her to wait on Elizabeth when it became evident that the young girl would never be willing to repudiate her mother by accepting her father's new wife as Queen of England, much less to deny her own claim to the title of Princess by acknowledging that Elizabeth was the rightful heir to a throne that Mary, as the King's illegitimate daughter, had no right to but she hadn't pushed him to reach out to her either, just as she had never tried to coax him into allowing Mary to travel to the More to visit Katherine when she heard that the other woman was dying and that Henry had forbidden their daughter to visit her, something that, even then, she could recognize as an unnecessary cruelty.

While it would have been too risky to allow Katherine and Mary to meet when the former was in better health, for fear that they would conspire with one another and with that snake Chapuys to try to find a way to force Henry to reinstate them to the positions they viewed as theirs by rights, or else to escape to Spain, where they could publicly proclaim themselves Queen and Princess of England from the Emperor's court, confident that their kinsman would defend their rights to those titles for the sake of family honour, the risks were minimal when Katherine was near death.

She was in no condition to try to escape, much less to take the field against Henry, as he feared.

Mary should have been allowed to be with her mother for her final days. It was her right, just as Edward had a right to know the man who had fathered him and to be recognized by him.

After today's presentation, Edward's position would be made clear to the court.

He was no prince, and could never be a prince, as there was no man in Christendom who could deny his bastard status, but a King's son should not be ignored and should have a place at his father's court, when he was old enough for some suitable post to be found for him, perhaps even to be granted a peerage, if it pleased his royal father to bestow such an honour on him. She could not begrudge Edward that, just as she could not begrudge him his place at Eltham Palace with his half-siblings. At least if she was also present when he was presented to Henry, and if he was presented to her to, it would signal to the court that he was here with her consent, and at least some of the gossip about how she felt about this development would be prevented.

"I think that Your Majesty should wear the ruby and diamond tiara." Kitty piped up, her eyes wide with awe as she took in the splendour of the deep red silk gown with its gold trimmings. "And the earrings and necklace too. They'll look so beautiful with your new gown!"

Anne gave her cousin an amused smile. "You have an eye for fashion, cousin – and also for dolls, it seems." She teased lightly, remembering that Kitty was, of all her ladies, the most enthusiastic when it came to helping sort out the dolls that were readied for Elizabeth and the other little girls, and the miniature gowns, furs and tiny paste jewellery that they were to be outfitted with. Only Kitty had taken the trouble to scrutinize the skin tones of each delicately painted face, the colour of the hair glued to the skulls and of the glass eyes to determine which colour gown and which jewels would be most becoming for them, determined that each doll should look her best when she was presented to her new little owner.

It was exactly what she herself had done when she was a child and her governess – perhaps recognizing it as the only way she could coax her wilful charge into sitting quietly and learning how to sew and embroider when she would have preferred to be outside playing with George and chafed at the thought of being kept indoors under the eye of her strict governess, who did not think it proper for a young lady in her charge to run wild like a boy – had allowed her to choose fabrics from a basket of scraps to make gowns and caps for her doll.

Kitty blushed a little at this but her smile was wide. "I wanted them to be pretty for Princess Elizabeth, and for the others." She explained, glancing across at the dolls lined up on a side table, each labelled with the name of the little girl it was intended for, ready to be presented to her on the Prince's birthday. She would have loved a doll like that when she was a small child but, by the time toys were passed down to her by her older siblings, they tended to be faded and rather battered, so she thought that it was very kind of the Queen to give these dolls to the little girls.

They were all so lucky to have somebody like the Queen always thinking about what would give them pleasure, and always being so generous with them.

"I'm sure that they'll all appreciate it." Anne assured her kindly.

Kitty nodded before turning her attention to the task at hand. "May I fetch the jewels?" She asked.

Anne nodded permission. "Of course." She said, smiling at Kitty's enthusiasm as she hurried out of the bedchamber, hastening towards the closet where the chests of jewels were stored.

When Kitty entered the jewel closet, she saw that Lady Mary was there and she dipped a slight curtsey, in deference to Mary's status as the King's daughter. "My lady." She greeted her.

As Queen Anne did not like to have the Lady Mary helping her bathe, dress or do her hair in the mornings, and since the King had ordered that Lady Mary was always to be kept occupied when the other ladies of the Queen's household were busy with their tasks instead of being allowed to remain in her own chamber for the morning and only joining the rest of them in the Queen's apartment when she was dressed for the day and they began their other tasks, Lady Mary Stafford, Madge Shelton and Nan Saville were always having to find her other tasks to perform and today, she was to tidy away some of the Queen's jewels, which had been left in a muddle after last night, when she couldn't decide which ones she wanted to wear for the evening.

Mary did not acknowledge her presence straight away. She was holding a necklace in one hand, not the one that Kitty had come to fetch, a different one, with purple jewels set in silver, and a larger pendant in the shape of a pomegranate, which Kitty had once been told was the badge that Katherine of Aragon had used when she came to England to marry Prince Arthur. It was a Spanish symbol, one that the Princess Dowager had used throughout her life.

Even though most of them had been chiselled away, to be replaced by Anne's falcon badge, Kitty had seen a couple of them around the palace, having escaped the purge and been forgotten. It was strange to see them, just as it was strange to see the occasional HK carved on the walls in the seldom used corridors where the King and Queen would never see them. They were a reminder of the fact that her cousin had not always been Queen, and that there was a time when many people believed that the Lady Mary's mother was truly the King's wife and Queen.

She hoped that it would not be much longer before the King discovered the forgotten symbols for himself, if nobody was brave enough to tell him of them, and removed them, although something kept her from approaching the King herself to let him know where they were, even though she didn't believe that he would be angry with her for it.

The Lady Mary would be distressed to see the symbols removed, and she didn't want that.

"My father gave this to my mother when they were ma..." She trailed off, catching herself before she could refer to the marriage of her parents, a marriage that, according to her father and to the Oath that he had obliged her to swear before he was willing to welcome her back into his life, had never existed, as though the ceremony had never happened in the first place. Her father seemed to want to pretend that there was never a time when he called her mother his wife and Queen so she was better off not speaking of it. He might have shown himself willing to welcome her to court as his daughter but she could never afford to forget how fragile her position was. Ill-chosen words could damn her. "She showed it to me when I was a little girl, many times."

Kitty wasn't sure what she should say in response to this. Part of her wanted to take the jewels she had come to fetch and hasten away without saying anything but Mary looked so unhappy that she didn't feel comfortable just leaving her standing there. It would be unkind of her to do so. If Charles was here, he'd probably know what he ought to say – he and the Lady Mary seemed to have become friends, which was good because it meant that they could keep her and Culpepper company when they went walking together, so that they didn't have to worry about getting into trouble with her Uncle Norfolk – but she felt tongue-tied and awkward in the other girl's presence, her loyalty and love for her cousin warring with her desire to comfort Mary if she could.

"I don't think that the Queen likes to wear that necklace." She said at last, wondering if Mary would feel better to know this. "I haven't seen her wear it since I came here to serve her."

Kitty felt certain that, if she was in Queen Anne's place, she wouldn't want to wear a jewel that her predecessor had once worn, even if it was a very fine one and even if the King was the one who gave it to her so that she might wear it if it pleased her. Surely it would be bad luck for the King's true wife to wear a jewel that the woman who was only ever called Queen by mistake had worn, and even if it wasn't, Kitty wouldn't relish the idea of wearing a jewel that was once very precious to somebody who hated her, as the Princess Dowager must have hated Queen Anne, since she would never admit that she was the King's true wife, even after Archbishop Cranmer declared her marriage invalid and she was told that it was very wrong for her to called herself the Queen.

Mary nodded slightly in response to her words but she didn't seem to take much comfort from Kitty's reassurances and she stared at the necklace in her hands, as though she was picturing every occasion when she saw her mother wearing it. Although her father had later presented her mother with other pieces, finer pieces, she knew that her mother had cherished this one especially because it was a gift of love, presented to her by the young King who had rescued her from the poverty she had endured since Prince Arthur's death, honouring his promise to marry her, despite the fact that many of his councillors advised him to marry another princess, a younger princess, who had not wasted so many of her best childbearing years in the limbo of widowhood, and raised her to the throne with him, to be the Queen of England, as she was born to be.

Once, her mother told her that she hoped that she would wear the necklace for her own wedding.

Mary was a child at the time, pleased about the prospect of becoming Holy Roman Empress and about marrying the cousin of whom her mother always spoke so highly, yet apprehensive about the idea of marrying a man who was so much older than her but she had cheered up at the thought of the splendid wedding that would take place when she turned twelve, picturing what it would be like to marry in the splendour of the Chapel Royal, with her proud parents in attendance, little realizing that, within the year, the Emperor would repudiate their betrothal to marry another.

Though disappointed, her mother had done her best to console her, promising that there would be another fine prince or King for her, one day, somebody who would love her and treat her with kindness and respect, and that she could still wear the necklace, even if she was not going to be marrying a Spanish bridegroom. It had brought her mother good fortune – or so she had believed at the time – and she had hoped that it would do the same for her daughter.

That was never going to happen now, even if her father did relent and make a suitable marriage for her, allowing her to be a wife and mother instead of forcing her to stay a spinster in Anne's service for the rest of her life, denied the opportunity to have a home and family of her own for fear that if she wed a powerful man, he would fight for her rights as heir to the throne – and Mary knew that she would rather marry an Englishman, even if that Englishman was not even a high-ranking nobleman, than wait for a royal marriage that would never happen.

He would never command or even request that Anne should part with one of her jewels so that it could be given to Mary as a keepsake of her mother, not even if Mary dared to remind him that it of her mother's wishes on the subject. He would not want to offend Anne by making her think that he wanted to honour his _true_ wife's wish, and Anne was unlikely to think of it herself, just as she had never thought to ask Mary if there was any of the jewels that were made especially for her mother that she wished to own, though she must have known what it would meant to her.

At the back of her mind, Mary knew that she was being unfair, especially as Anne would not be able to give away any of the jewels passed down from Queen to Queen; they were not hers, not truly, she was simply allowed the right to possess them as long as the title of Queen was hers, after which she would pass them on to her successor, but Mary couldn't change how she felt.

It hurt her to think of Anne wearing the jewels of the Queens of England, the jewels that had belonged to her mother and that, as a child, Mary had expected that she would one day have the right to wear, although she was realistic enough to know that, even if her father had married Anne after her mother's death, and she was indisputably his wife, or even if he had set her aside so that he could marry another woman, one who had played no part in his decision to set her mother aside and rob Mary of her rights as his legitimate child, it would still have hurt to see another woman sitting in the place that was her mothers, wearing the jewels that had belonged to her and being loved by the man who once rode in the lists as her mother's Sir Loyal Heart.

Her father had had the best wife in the world, until he cast her aside, though she loved him dearly and always sought to please him, and Mary hated to see that Anne had replaced her mother ion her father's affections, just as she hated knowing that she was no longer her father's perfect princess, the pearl of his world. Harry was his heir now, and Elizabeth was the cherished princess.

How could her father have cast aside the daughter he adored, even for Anne?

Even if he had not wanted to remain married to her mother, even if he believed himself to be in love with Anne and soothed his conscience into believing that it was right for him to want to set aside his true and loving wife so that he might raise her lady-in-waiting as Queen in her place, why couldn't his love for his only living child have kept him from going through with it, for her sake?

Mary could feel tears pricking the backs of her eyes as she gently set the necklace back into its place in the ornate jewel chest, conscious of the fact that Kitty was watching her, concerned.

Kitty was not tactful by nature, something her step-grandmother had chided her for, on more than one occasion, reminding her that a girl who could not control her tongue could soon find that it would get her into trouble, especially if she made the mistake of saying the wrong thing to somebody powerful enough to do her harm, but she could sense that the last thing Mary would want would be to have a witness present while she was distressed. She was not somebody who liked to confide her troubles in others, and despite the length of time they had spent serving in Anne's household together, Kitty didn't know her well enough to try to coax her into speaking.

"I should bring these to Her Majesty, if you will excuse me, my Lady Mary." She said, spotting the jewels she had come in search of and all but snatching them up, eager to escape. She dipped another slight curtsey to Mary before hastening out of the closet, taking the precaution of shutting the door, in case Mary wanted to weep without others overhearing her.

Mary did not weep when the door of the closet closed behind Kitty.

She wanted to be able to weep, to vent her feelings, even to go to Anne or her father to tell them that, if they were going to keep her in a servant's role for the rest of her life, if they were going to treat her with suspicion and allow their children to do the same because of the crime they imagined her to have committed, she would rather return to the More but she knew that she couldn't. Even if her training as a princess, under the patient tutelage of her mother and of Lady Salisbury, had not taught her to control herself, it would be dangerous to speak out.

If she wanted to be safe, if she wanted to have any hope that her father would ever smile on her as his beloved daughter again, she had to be quiet and behave as he wished her to.

No matter how difficult and painful that was.

* * *

Henry did not always wear his crown when he received guests in his presence chamber.

Sometimes, it was necessary for him to provide a visible reminder of his status as King, in case anybody might dare to think that they could defy him with impunity but, for the most part, he found the crown too heavy to wear for an afternoon of audiences, and even after all his years on the throne, he still found the crown to be so cumbersome that he was always afraid of it tilting.

He could imagine the reaction if he moved too quickly and his crown fell to the floor!

Anne never wore St. Edward's Crown, the crown that he had placed on her head with his own hands on the day of her coronation, exactly three years prior to Harry's birth but she usually wore a tiara or a jewelled diadem, a habit begun partly out of necessity in the months and years immediately following her coronation, as there were those who dared to question her right to the title of Queen and who made it necessary for her to always dress the part. She knew that she had to appear as the Queen she was, for fear that her title would be applied to Katherine.

Henry thought that, even if she wore a plain gown and no jewels, her innate grace and dignity would mark her out as a Queen to all those who were not determined to be blind to that fact.

Perhaps God and Nature had always intended that Anne should be Queen, and blessed her with all of the qualities she would need to fulfil that role at her birth.

Today, however, Henry knew that he was going to wear his crown. Today, not only were Elizabeth and Harry to be formally received by their parents, as Prince and Princess being presented to King and Queen, Jane's son would also be here, and he had undoubtedly heard many stories about the father who was, as yet, just a name to him, as he could have no memories of the visit Henry had paid to his mother's home when he was born. He wanted him to be proud to be a King's son, and for the court to see him honoured by being received in the splendour of the presence chamber.

He had every intention of treating the little boy with the same kindness with which he would have treated Mary, if his daughter had not defied him, now that he knew that Anne wanted this too.

By the time he entered the presence chamber, in a splendid new suit of black satin, with slashes of cloth of gold in his doublet, and the outfit embellished with gold embroidery, a gold chain around his neck and his crown on his head, most of the court had already gathered, eager to see the arrival of their Prince and Princess, and to see how the King's illegitimate son would be received.

The chatter died down when Henry came close to the speakers but he could imagine what they were saying, guessing that they were wondering how warmly their King would welcome his illegitimate son, and if he intended to oblige the Queen to welcome him too, or if the meeting would be a coldly formal one, with the King regarding it as his duty to publicly acknowledge his son, now that the boy was old enough to be brought to court for the first time, but not intending that he should be a member of the royal family or that further honours would be granted to him.

Jane's two brothers were among those who stood out in the crowd; although the other courtiers were chatting good-naturedly amongst one another, the Seymour brothers stood a little apart from the others and they held themselves tensely, awaiting the moment when their nephew would arrive and they could watch him being presented to his father and stepmother. Henry saw them look at him expectantly when he entered, as though they expected that he would come over to speak to them, perhaps to ask them how Jane and the rest of the family fared, but he did not.

They were his son's uncles and, as such, they could not be excluded on the day when the little boy was first presented to his father and when the court first saw him but he was not going to hurt Anne by going over to them, or to take the chance that she might imagine that he went to speak to the Seymour men because he wished to enquire after their sister, his one-time lover. He had no interest in speaking to them in any case but even if he did, he would not have approached them.

Anne was already being far braver and far more generous than he had any right to ask or expect from her by receiving Jane's son at their court. He was not going to ask her for more.

When he spotted his father- and brother-in-law, he hastened over to greet them, smiling at the sight of the little girl clinging tightly to George's hand and staring at the courtiers with wide eyes, taking in everything around her. "Your Grace, Lord Ormonde," he greeted the two men as they bowed, then he crouched to the little girl's level. "And this little lady must be your beautiful daughter, Lady Eleanor." He said, glancing up at George, who nodded confirmation.

To his surprise, instead of either confirming her identity, or else hiding her face as a shyer child might, Eleanor scowled at him reprovingly. "Nell!" She corrected him firmly, ignoring her grandfather's muttered warning at meeting Henry's gaze squarely. "My name is Nell." She spoke clearly, stressing her words, so that there could be no mistake. "Not Eleanor."

Henry did not take offence at her words but he did not want to laugh. Although she could be no more than three years old, she looked so fierce and so determined that he didn't want to hurt her feelings by laughing at her, even if he was amused by her daring. Few people would dare to speak to him like that! She might not look much like Elizabeth, as she had George's dark hair and blue-grey eyes, while Elizabeth was fairer in colouring, taking after his own mother and her namesake, Elizabeth of York, but there could be no mistaking their kinship. She had all of Elizabeth's courage and daring, which must be their shared inheritance from Anne. "Lady Nell." He corrected himself, keeping his expression sober and suitably repentant. "Please accept my apologies."

"That's better." Nell told him, appeased.

"Are you here to celebrate the Prince's birthday, Lady Nell?" Henry asked her gravely.

"Yes." Nell nodded happily before her grandfather hissed a reminder to her. "Your Majesty." She tacked on belatedly, remembering how she was supposed to address him, and bending in a slightly clumsy curtsey. She knew that he was her uncle, because he was married to one of her aunts, but she couldn't speak to him the way she spoke to Uncle Will, Aunt Mary's husband, who visited Hever from time to time. She had to be very polite to him and to Aunt Anne because they were the King and Queen and therefore the most important people in England. "Papa said that I could come to court because I'm a big girl now." She confided happily. "But Tommy's still too little to come, so he has to stay at home." She gloated cheerfully.

Although she was fond of her baby brother, she was glad that she was to be allowed come while he was left behind, especially because her nurse always acted like Tommy was more important. Her grandpapa thought that too; when he came to visit Hever Castle, he always wanted to visit the nursery to see Tommy but he never paid any attention to her, not like her Papa did.

She knew that she was her Papa's favourite, even if Tommy was a boy.

"I hope that you have a wonderful time, my lady." Henry told her with a smile.

"I will." She assured him calmly, before tugging at her father's doublet. "Lift me up, Papa!" She commanded. "I want to see Aunt Anne when she comes in."

George obediently bent down to sweep his daughter up in his arms, holding her high so that she would be able to see everything that was happening in the room. "Is that better?"

"Yes." Nell nodded, bouncing in her excitement when the chamberlain announced the arrival of the Queen and her aunt entered the room with a group of beautifully dressed ladies. When Nell grew up, she wanted to live at court and wear beautiful dresses and dance and sing and play music like the ladies at court did... that or she would work to help flowers and vegetables grow. She liked helping the gardeners at Hever whenever she could slip away from her nurse, who didn't like her to play games that made her gowns dirty. "She's very, very pretty." She said, awed.

"Almost as pretty as you, sweetheart." George told her, beaming at his lovely daughter, who returned his smile and leaned over to kiss his cheek in thanks for his compliment.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, Lady Nell." Henry told them before he moved to the doorway, where Anne was standing. He bowed to her, taking her slender hand in his and kissing it before tucking her arm through his, so that he could lead her to the dais, where four thrones were set out, awaiting them and their children. The sea of courtiers parted for them, with the men bowing low – apart from George, who had little Nell in his arms and who could only bow his head politely – and the women curtseying, all of them keeping their heads bent until the King and Queen were seated.

Once seated on his throne, Henry kept Anne's hand in his as he scanned the faces of her ladies, smiling involuntarily at the childlike excitement on Kitty Howard's face. He suspected that, no matter how long she stayed at court or how old she became, she would never become bored of court ceremony or celebrations. She seemed to take just as much delight in every event as she had at the last, and whenever she was invited to take part in one of the masques, she was always the most enthusiastic of the dancers, even if she was not the most skilled. Her happy vitality was a complete contrast to Mary, who stood by her side, her face pale and, even though her gown was a beautiful one, made from rich fabrics in honour of the occasion, and of shimmering silver instead of the black she once favoured, it looked muted next to the splendid gowns of the other ladies.

Mary was trying to smile but it did not reach her eyes, and Henry noticed this. He beckoned for his daughter to approach him and, when she came within earshot, he spoke to her in a low voice.

"Are you well today, Lady Mary?" He asked, concerned. While he did not deny being irritated by the frequency with which Mary claimed illness in order to escape her duties in Anne's household, and while he would have put a stop to it long ago if Anne had not asked him to ignore it, he couldn't forget that she was the same girl whose health had frequently caused him concern during her childhood. Even when he was estranged from his daughter, and obliged to appear to feel coldly towards her, for fear that her supporters would try to play on his weakness and convince him to restore her if they knew just how much he loved her and how much he regretted their estrangement, reports of her illnesses had frighted him badly. If he believed that she was feigning illness to gain sympathy or to avoid being present for Harry's special day, he would not pander to her whims but if she was genuinely unwell, he would never force her to attend.

"I am very well, Your Majesty. It is kind of Your Majesty to be concerned." Mary said steadily.

Henry scrutinized her pale face for a moment before he motioned for her to step back. If Mary felt well enough to attend the ceremony, he would not urge her to leave – and since he was to receive his other illegitimate child, it would be just as well to have Mary present too. She had just as much of a right to be at court as Jane's son did, and he had no intention of allowing any man or woman at court to imply otherwise. "Stand there, my daughter." He instructed her, indicating a spot to his right, closer to the dais than the place where the other ladies-in-waiting stood. It would not be appropriate for him to have her on the dais, but she could stand nearby.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Mary curtsied deeply before standing in the appointed spot, feeling absurdly pleased to have been singled out for an honour, even a small one, anything that set her apart from Anne's other ladies-in-waiting and that showed that her father acknowledged her. Ten years ago, she would never have believed that she could be reduced to rejoicing over such a minor degree of recognition and honour, but she was realistic enough to be glad of it now.

Even a small honour was better than none.

They did not have to wait long before a page entered the room, making his obeisance to Henry and Anne before delivering his message quietly, a message that brought smiles to their faces.

"My children have arrived." Henry announced to the court, indicating that the page should hasten back to let them know that they could make their entrance as soon as they were ready to.

The courtiers were parted down the middle of the large room, so that there was a clear path to the dais for Elizabeth and Harry, and their gaze was directed at the double door leading into the room as they awaited the bang of the Lord Chamberlain's staff and his announcement.

"His Highness the Prince of Wales and Her Highness the Princess Elizabeth!"

Henry was certain that Elizabeth had grown a hands-span in the months since he last saw her. She carried herself with all the dignity of a Princess, although she was still a little over three months away from her eighth birthday, and he thought that she looked like an angel in her ivory gown, which was beaded with pearls, with a bodice embellished with beautiful embroidery. The pale gold hood that held her red-gold hair back from her face was trimmed with pearls, looking almost like a halo, and she wore a simple rope of pearls around her neck.

He felt blessed to have such a perfect daughter but it was Harry who caught his eye, and who brought a wide smile to his face and caused the laughter to bubble up within him.

Harry's outfit was a miniature of the one that Henry was wearing now, down to the embroidery on the doublet, and the mischievous light in Anne's eyes told him that he could thank her for this. She must have commissioned his tailor to copy his outfit for their son. The only difference was that, while Henry wore his crown, Harry wore a much lighter gold coronet, and the little boy held his head high to ensure that it would remain straight. Harry's likeness to him was undeniable but now that they were identically dressed, it was more pronounced than ever.

For his part, Harry was hard-pressed to keep the gleeful smile from his face as he approached the dais, clearly aware of the surprise his mother had planned for his father, despite his best efforts to behave solemnly, as Lady Bryan had taught him to, and to remember every point of etiquette. He walked slowly, instead of running, with Elizabeth keeping pace by his side, and when they reached the dais, he bowed as he was taught to, watching his sister out of the corner of his eye to see when she began to rise from her curtsey, so that he would know that he too ought to stand.

Henry held his arms wide to them, embracing them both at the same time, one in each arm. He kissed Elizabeth's cheek, stroking her long hair. "My beautiful princess." He said softly, finding it difficult to believe that the beautiful young girl standing in front of him was the same adorable, chubby baby he once held in his arms and predicted might preside over empires one day.

She gave him a dazzling smile in response, returning his kiss. "My Papa." She murmured, before turning slightly so that her mother could also enfold her in an embrace. "Mama."

"Hello, sweetheart." Anne held her daughter close, kissing her. "You look so beautiful."

"Don't I look handsome, Mama?" Harry demanded of Anne, gesturing to his outfit. "Like Papa?"

"Very handsome, my darling boy." Anne told him. "And just like your Papa."

"I don't think that anybody could deny that." Henry said, loudly enough for the courtiers to hear. He smiled at the chorus of approving replies, delighting in the remarks that Harry was him in miniature. Although a smaller throne was set up at his right hand for Harry, just as there was one set up on Anne's left for Elizabeth, he opted to lift the little boy onto his knee instead, so that their closer proximity would allow everybody to better see the likeness between the two of them, even though he knew that there was nobody in the kingdom who would dare to allege that the little boy was not his son. Even Katherine and Mary's staunchest supporters couldn't deny the evidence of their own eyes. From his lap, Harry leaned over to kiss Anne and be embraced by her, while the watching courtiers applauded the touching sight of the royal family reunited. Henry basked in their approval for a few moments before continuing with the carefully planned ceremony. "I understand that you have both made some new friends, friends you would like to introduce us to."

"Yes, Papa." Elizabeth confirmed with a solemn nod.

"So which of you would like to go first?" Henry prompted.

Lady Bryan had told Harry that, even though Lilibet was older than he was, he was the Prince of Wales, which meant that he should be the first one to present his companions to his parents. However, although he had practiced the introductions at Eltham, he felt nervous now that there were so many lords and ladies watching, waiting to see what happened, and he wasn't sure that he remembered everything he was supposed to do. If Lilibet went first, she would know exactly what to do, she never forgot things like that, so he would be able to copy her when his turn came.

"I think that Lilibet should go first, Papa." He told his father decisively. "She's a lady."

"Very chivalrous of you, my son." Henry praised his son, gravely, shifting him slightly so that Harry was seated more comfortably on his knee, and smiling at Elizabeth to let her know that she might begin to make the introductions. "Go ahead, sweetheart." He told her kindly.

Kat had helped Elizabeth memorize the order in which she should present her companions, based on their respective positions, so she didn't need to hesitate when the girls were brought in to make their curtseys to the King and Queen. "Your Majesties, permit me to introduce my companions." She began gravely, waiting for them to nod assent before she made a slight motion with her fingers to let Annie know that she should step forward first. Even though Annie's father wasn't a nobleman, she was the Queen's niece so she came first. "Mistress Anne Stafford."

Annie had no fears where her aunt and her Uncle King were concerned, so her smile was broad as she stepped forward and made a second curtsey. "It is an honour, Your Majesties."

"The honour is ours, Mistress Anne." Henry assured her, smiling at the gravity of her address.

Elizabeth gestured for Cathy to step forward next. Cathy wasn't even five yet, and she was really more of a playmate to Harry than to Elizabeth, just as Robert played with Elizabeth more than he played with Harry but Kat had explained that she would be the one to introduce all of the girls, just as Harry would introduce all of the boys. "Lady Catherine Brandon."

Henry's frown at the name was involuntary, but he hid it quickly, saying all the right things and smiling at the child. It was no fault of hers that her parents chose that name for her.

There was only one more little girl, Mistress Mary Dudley, and although she was nervous, she managed to acquit herself well and made her curtsey without any mishap.

It was Harry's turn now and he chewed his lower lip thoughtfully as the boys were led in. "Your Majesties, permit me to introduce my companions." He began, repeating Lilibet's words, but he paused afterwards, not sure who he should call forward first. Lady Bryan told him all about precedence, and that it meant that a duke's son was more important than a baron's son, and that the sons of earls and viscounts and marquesses came somewhere in between, although he wasn't sure of the exact order. King's sons were usually the most important of all, but did that count with Edward, when he wasn't the son of the Queen as well as the King, or were the rules different for sons who were bastards, as Robert said Edward was?

"It's alright, darling." His Mama smiled at him kindly, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it gently as she whispered to him. "Take all the time you need."

Harry wanted to do this properly, to please her, but he couldn't remember the order he was supposed to use. He would just have to guess. He decided that he was probably safe calling Hal forward first, since Hal's papa was the Duke of Suffolk and one of the most important noblemen in England. "This is Lord Hal... I mean Lord Henry Brandon." He corrected himself quickly, remembering that Lilibet had used Cathy's proper name instead of her nickname when she introduced her. Hal bowed and was greeted by Papa, and Harry decided that he should introduce the others all at once, to be safe. "This is Master Robert Dudley and his brother Master Guilford Dudley and this is Lord Edward Fitzroy." He spoke very quickly, but his Papa didn't mind.

He was smiling and he patted Harry's back. "Well said, my son." He congratulated him.

"You did so well, darling, you both did." Anne seconded Henry, seeing Harry's nervousness and wanting to reassure him that he had done well, though she could see that Elizabeth needed no such reassurances. She had remembered her part and had played it to perfection, and she knew it, so she acknowledged the praise with a nod and a quick smile before focusing her attention on her little brother and adding her praise to that of her parents'.

"Very good, Harry." She told him generously, resolving to practice more with him the next time he had to speak in front of the court... though she would never tell him that he did anything wrong this time. He didn't need to know and it would only make him upset if she told him and she never wanted her little brother to be upset about anything. It was her job as his big sister to make sure that he never had to feel sad and that he was always as happy as he possibly could be.

Harry was relieved that it had gone well and settled back on his father's lap. He could see that his father was staring at Edward, not looking at Hal, Robert or Guilford, as if they weren't even there.

"Come here, child." Henry beckoned for Edward to approach.

Mistress Jones and Lady Bryan had both told Edward exactly what he was supposed to do if the King singled him out to speak to him, which he might do. He was to step forward, so that he was standing closer to the dais where the King and Queen and the Prince and Princess would have their thrones than the other boys did, and then he should bow, as deeply as he could manage without falling over. He might then walk to the foot of the dais, and this time he should kneel there, directly in front of the King's throne, and keep his head bowed until the King told him otherwise.

He was not to rise until the King said that he might, and under no circumstances was he to step onto the dais unless the King specifically told him to. Elizabeth and Harry would be seated on their thrones there by the time he was presented but they were the Prince and Princess, and the rules were different for them and they were for him. It was for the King to tell him where he might stand, and Edward was to wait until he made his pleasure known before he took the initiative.

Henry stared at the little boy kneeling in front of him for longer than he had planned to.

When he agreed to receive his son, and decided to do so before the court, he intended to keep it fairly brief, and had planned that once Edward was presented to him, he would greet the boy, tell him to rise and welcome him to his court. He would not bring him onto the dais with Elizabeth and Harry but he would be able to stand nearby, perhaps with Mary, or else directly opposite her, and everybody present would know that he welcomed his son and wished for them to treat him kindly. Now that the child was kneeling in front of him, however, he felt as though his tongue would no longer obey him and no words came, even when he saw Anne's worried expression.

Edward was very like his mother. That much was plain.

Harry was the living image of him, looking uncannily like Henry had when he was a child, but Edward took after Jane in virtually every respect, and did not seem to have a single feature in common with Henry. He had Jane's pale blonde hair, her fair skin and her eyes. Even the shape of his face and his features reminded Henry of the woman he had once believed himself to be devotedly in love with, five years ago. If not for the fact that he knew Jane to have been a virtuous woman before she became his mistress, he might have wondered whether the boy standing in front of him was truly his son at all. He was so like his mother that he might have been any man's son. He was a Seymour to the life, as Henry had thought when he saw him as a baby.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Edward Seymour shifting uncomfortably, craning his neck to get a better view, a worried expression on his face. He had expected his nephew to be warmly welcomed and was worried by Henry's silence, looking as though he couldn't decide if it would be better for him to step forward and take his nephew away rather than leaving the child kneeling there before his silent father and prolonging the humiliating moment of rejection until it was uncomfortable for all present, or if he should hold his peace and wait, trusting that Henry would speak to his son, sooner or later, even if he was silent at first.

"Henry?" Anne's voice was whisper soft, a reminder that he had stayed silent too long and that he would have to speak if he did not wish to make it look as though he was rejecting the child.

"You may rise, Lord Edward." To Henry, his voice sounded higher than normal, even shaking slightly, but nobody else seem to notice that there was anything amiss. Edward rose from his knees as gracefully as he could manage and he returned Henry's stare with an innocent, almost fearful gaze. Henry didn't like to think of one of his children being afraid of him so he smiled, as gently and as naturally as he could, wanting to set Edward at ease. "My son." He said, for the benefit of the listening courtiers as much as for Edward himself. "You are welcome to my court."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Edward wasn't sure if he was supposed to bow again but he decided that he should, to be on the safe side. "Your Majesty is kind." He added earnestly, so that his Papa would know that he was very grateful to be allowed to come to court with the Prince and the Princess. He didn't want this to be the last time he was allowed to come to court and he was sure that the King wouldn't want to invite him back if he thought him an ungrateful boy.

Mistress Jones had stressed that it was very good of the King to bring him to court, even though Edward was his own son, and warned him that he might not be invited back unless he was good.

"It is my pleasure." Henry told him, before setting Harry on his feet, waiting until he was sitting on his smaller throne before he rose, to take a few steps closer to Edward. He took the little boy's hand in his, feeling pleased when Edward placed his small hand in his trustingly, and he led him closer to Anne. "I would like to present you to your stepmother," he said. "This is Queen Anne."

Edward thought that it would be better if he didn't remind his Papa that he had already met Queen Anne when she came to visit at Eltham, in case he became cross if he was embarrassed or if he thought that Edward was being rude to him, so he bowed low in front of her. "Your Majesty."

She nodded, giving him a smile. "Welcome, Lord Edward."

"You already know the Prince and the Princess," Henry continued, leading Edward away from Anne and stepping down from the dais, so that the two of them were standing in front of Mary, who curtsied to her father at his approach. "But you have not yet met your oldest sister, and it's past time that you did. Allow me to present you to my daughter, the Lady Mary Tudor." He smiled as Edward swept a courtly bow to Mary, who returned the gesture with a shallow curtsey, allowing him to take her hand and kiss it, her eyes warm as she looked at her youngest brother, her pleasure at seeing him welcomed and the affection she already felt for him plain.

Whatever else could be said of Mary, whatever she had done in the past, before she came to accept the truth, it was clear that she was not jealous of the attention Edward was receiving now.

"I am honoured to meet you, Lady Mary." Edward said solemnly, wondering why his oldest sister was not a princess, like Elizabeth. Her name wasn't Fitzroy, like his, it was Tudor, their papa's name and the name of the royal house, the name that Harry and Elizabeth would use if they weren't called by their titles as Prince and Princess instead of by their surname, so he wasn't sure if she was a bastard like him or if she was something different. Queen Anne looked too young to be Lady Mary's mother. Were all of the King's daughters allowed to be called Tudor, even if they weren't the Queen's daughters too? Even though he had glimpsed Lady Mary among Queen Anne's other ladies when they came to Eltham, he was not presented to her then and Lady Bryan had not told him how he should behave towards her. To be safe, he bowed to her. Even if she wasn't a princess, she was much older than he was so he should be very polite to her.

His Mama always liked for him to be polite to other people.

"It is a pleasure, Lord Edward." Mary smiled at the little boy and, when her father gave Edward a gentle push in her direction, placing his small, plump hand in hers, she squeezed it gently.

They stood there together, near the foot of the dais, watching as their father returned to his throne, taking Anne's hand in his and kissing it before motioning for the other children who acted as companions to Harry and Elizabeth to come forward, so that he might speak to them. Mary could see the relieved expressions on the faces of the Seymour men, who were delighted to see that their nephew was welcomed, and she could hear snatches of whispering from the watching courtiers as they discussed the reception given to the King's son, and speculated about his future.

When Mary caught the eye of one of the speakers, they hastily turned the conversation to another subject but she could imagine what they were thinking, and could guess that they had probably discussed her own position within the royal family often enough, speculating about how long her father intended to keep her in Anne's household, and if she would ever enjoy a more honoured place at his court, perhaps allowed a household of her own, even a modestly sized one.

How long would it be before he believed that she had been sufficiently punished for her past refusal to accept Anne as her Queen? How long would it be before he trusted her again?

He would never give her the right to call herself Princess Mary again. She knew that much.

Since he did not seem to want her to make a royal match, with a suitor who would insist that his bride should be declared illegitimate before he could marry her, as the dignity of his royal house would not allow him to marry a woman whose father denied her right to the title of Princess and insisted that she was a bastard, he would not revisit the question of her status because he would not want to allow the question of the validity of his marriage to her mother to be re-examined, not when he and Anne had a son whose position would be threatened if he ever admitted that he was wrong to set aside his true wife and legitimate daughter so that he could call the lady sitting next to him his wife and Queen, but surely it didn't have to be like this for her.

Surely she could have more, and little Edward could too.

Was it their fate to always be left to stand apart, like they didn't truly belong or would a time ever come when they were allowed to stand on their dais, with the rest of the family?

She was afraid to ask.

She didn't know if she would be able to cope if the answer was "no".

* * *

**_1st June 1541_ **

Harry was revelling in the attention that was lavished on him on his special day.

When he woke up in the morning, he found several gaily wrapped packages waiting for him at the foot of his bed, gifts from his Mama and his Papa, from Lilibet and from Grandpapa, Uncle George and Aunt Mary. They weren't his proper birthday gifts, the big gifts would be presented to him later, at the feast in his honour, they were the new toys he was allowed to open in his own rooms, after which he went to visit the givers in turn so that he could thank them properly.

His Mama and Papa were getting ready to have breakfast in Mama's apartment when he came to say 'thank you' so he was allowed to eat with them, and they sent a message to Lilibet's governess, Mistress Kat, to tell her that she should bring Elizabeth to eat breakfast with them too. Harry enjoyed meals in the Great Hall, where he had a special high, carved chair of his own next to his Papa, with a rich canopy over it as a reminder of his royal status, but he liked it even better when he and Lilibet were allowed to eat meals in private with Mama and Papa.

It was one of the nicest things about coming to court.

For the feast in his honour, he was wearing a dark blue outfit just like his Papa's, except that this time it wasn't a surprise for Papa. Harry had sent a page to ask Papa if he could wear his dark blue outfit because that was one of the outfits that Mama had had copied for him. It was fun to be dressed just like his Papa, even if the coronet he wore was much smaller than Papa's crown.

Lilibet wasn't going to dress exactly like Mama, although they would both be wearing blue and silver, but she was going to wear a tiara like Mama's, to show that she was the Princess of England, and Mama even let her borrow some of her jewellery. When she came to Harry's apartment to show him her new outfit, he thought that she was nearly as beautiful as their Mama.

"I wish that I was big enough to ride in the jousts." He told her, as their attendants led them down from the quiet corridor where they had their apartments. Lady Bryan had told him that his Papa had said that he and Lilibet should be lodged there when they came to visit the court because the rooms were very fine but also far away from the places where the other courtiers were lodged, and it was better for them if they had peace and quiet. Harry liked it because it meant that they could be as loud as they wished when they were playing without disturbing anybody. "I would wear your favour, and Mama's favour too." He knew that his Papa didn't joust anymore, so he couldn't be Mama's champion and Harry didn't think that it was nice for her not to have a champion.

The Queen should have a knight, and that knight should be the best knight in all England.

"I think that you're only supposed to wear one lady's favour at a time." Lilibet pointed out. "That's why I told Uncle George that he should wear Nell's favour today, instead of mine."

Harry had thought that this was very nice of his sister, since their Uncle George always wore her favour whenever they were allowed to watch the jousting, and he knew that, even if Lilibet never said so, she loved knowing that somebody wanted her favour, but he could understand that she wanted to let their cousin have her turn, especially since Uncle George was Nell's papa and it was her first time at court. Her first time at court was very special and they should all try to help her have the best time she could while she was there. He had already promised Mama that he would ask Nell to dance with him after dinner, because she was very little and most of the gentlemen and even the other boys probably wouldn't think of asking her to dance with them.

He was five now, so Nell seemed very young, but she was his cousin and he would be nice to her.

The feast was a very splendid one, and Papa promised that, as soon as it would be dark, there would be fireworks. Master Holbein had designed some very fine ornaments, all crafted from gold and silver and some of them studded with precious jewels, which would be brought to Eltham Palace where they could decorate Harry's presence chamber, where he occasionally received important guests, but he wasn't very interested in those gifts, although he thanked his Papa and Mama nicely for giving them to him, and Master Holbein for making such wonderful things for him.

A lot of the courtiers brought him things like gold cups and plates and cutlery and even some glass goblets that came all the way from Venice and that looked as sparkling as diamonds. The Duke of Norfolk, his Mama's uncle, presented him with magnificent carpets, of many colours with beautiful patterns that made everybody exclaim in awe, carpets that came all the way from Turkey. There were so many things that he knew that he would never be able to remember who gave him each of the gifts but it was his other gifts, the gifts that he could use, that he liked best of all.

His favourite gift could not be brought into the Great Hall with the other gifts but he would be allowed to go to see it later. It was a pony, a bigger one than the one that Mama and Papa gave him for his third birthday because he had grown so much and needed a pony that was big enough for him – though he was very glad when Mama promised that he would still be able to keep Midnight, his first pony, even though he had a bigger pony now. He wouldn't have liked to watch Midnight be sent away, especially if the people who were to take care of him might be unkind.

Midnight was his friend and he wanted him to be taken care of and treated kindly.

Since Edward didn't have a pony of his very own yet, and had to use the ones in the stables at Eltham, maybe he could have Midnight. He would be good to him, Harry was sure of that.

There was a procession of grooms who brought his gifts from his Mama and Papa in to him, one by one, and all of the courtiers applauded as each gift was brought out, murmuring that he was a very lucky boy to have so many fine gifts to open, as though Harry didn't already know that.

He wasn't the only one to get gifts that day.

After he had opened the last of his gifts, a fine bow and a quiver and a set of arrows from Papa, a gift that came with the promise of lessons from a real archer, who would teach him everything he needed to know, Papa announced that there were also gifts for Lilibet, and for the other children who lived at Eltham. All of the girls were given beautiful dolls, dressed in fine gowns, and there was an extra one for Nell, since Mama knew that she was going to be coming to court and didn't want her to be left out, while all of the boys were given bows and arrows of their own.

"So that you may all practice together." Papa said.

Harry was glad to see that Papa gave Edward his bow and arrow himself, ruffling his hair and telling him that he should practice so he could go hunting with them when he was bigger. Edward had had his last birthday, his fourth, before he came to live at Eltham but he had told Harry that Papa had not come to pay him a visit that day, which made Harry feel sorry for him. He knew that he would be very sad if he couldn't be with Mama and Papa. It was bad enough that they had to wait so long between visits but no visits at all would be horrible, especially on his birthday. They had had to miss Lilibet's birthday once, when she was six, because of the bad people who kept them away, but they had made up for it with even better celebrations than usual later on.

Maybe when Edward had his fifth birthday, there would be an extra special party for him, to make up for all of the birthdays when Papa wasn't able to be there with him.

Edward wasn't sitting at table on the dais with them but he was sitting at a table immediately below them, so that Harry was able to catch his eye throughout the meal and exchange smiles.

The palace cooks had made sure that all of his favourite dishes were prepared for him, and there were lots more for him to choose from as well, some of which he had never tried before but that he found very nice. Mama pointed out the very spiciest of them and he avoided them so he wouldn't burn his mouth but, other than that, he tried everything that was offered to him. For mealtimes at Eltham they had very nice food but Lady Bryan was always telling them that it was bad for children to commit the sin of gluttony, and that they shouldn't eat too much rich food because it might make them ill but when he was eating with his Mama and Papa, they wouldn't keep him from eating what he pleased and he took full advantage of this.

He was feeling very full – though not so full that he couldn't fit in a few more sweetmeats and cakes when they were offered to him – when he saw Lilibet and some of the other ladies slip away.

"Where is Lilibet going?" He asked, but his Mama and Papa just shook their heads.

"You'll see." Papa promised him with a grin.

While Lilibet and the ladies were gone, servants worked to move some of the tables aside, so that there was a clear area in the middle of the Hall, and when they returned, they were dressed in fantastic costumes and Harry clapped his hands at the sight of them. Some of the ladies were dressed in white and silvery-blue costumes, with a pattern of snowflakes on their robes and crowns that looked like they were made of snow and ice, while other ladies wore more brightly coloured costumes, embroidered with flowers, with wreathes of those flowers in their hair. His cousin Kitty was wearing green and pink, with pink rosebuds in her hair, and she looked very pretty, but not as pretty as Lilibet, who wore the loveliest costume of all.

She had changed out of the gown she wore for dinner and her new gown was made from pale green silk and cloth of gold. She had a gold crown on her head, and she carried a sceptre with different kinds of flowers twined around it, a sceptre that she used to banish the snowflake ladies and make the flower ladies wake up, before she and the flower ladies did their dance.

"Elizabeth is the Queen of Summer." Mama explained to him in an undertone when she saw his enraptured staring. "She is banishing Winter and bringing in Summer – making the world golden." Her voice was soft and she reached out to stroke his hair, smiling at him. "That's what you will do one day, when you are King. You will bring about a golden world."

He nodded solemnly, determined to do everything his Mama wanted him to do. "I will, I promise."

When the masque was over, everybody applauded the dancers and Harry clapped loudest of all, thinking that even though Lilibet was the youngest lady dancing, she was one of the best. He was glad that she was the one who was chosen to play the Queen of Summer. He was glad to stand up when his Mama and Papa did, and to follow them onto the dance floor, waiting for Papa to take Mama's hand to start to dance with her before he bowed to Lilibet and invited her to dance.

* * *

Mary watched the dancing from the sidelines, a pensive expression on her face as she watched her father twirl Anne around for the first dance. He moved more stiffly than the other men who were taking part in the dancing, and she knew that his leg must be troubling him, although he was plainly determined not to allow it to keep him from enjoying the festivities to the fullest.

The celebration might be in Harry's honour but Mary knew that it was a celebration for her father too. He had waited so long to have a son before Anne presented him with one that Harry's birthdays were an anniversary of his triumph as well as a celebration of Harry's continuing life. For her father, every birthday of Harry's that they celebrated was further proof that he had made the right choice when he decided that he was not willing to continue to stay married to Mary's mother, or to accept the daughter she had borne him as his heir. He had fought against his Queen, against the Church and even against many of his own people, who were outraged to think of their sovereign setting aside a good wife whose only wrong was to have grown old so that he could make Anne his Queen, the price she had demanded for her surrender, and in Harry, he had all the proof he would ever want that this had been the right choice for him, and for England.

As far as he was concerned, he had been proven right, and that was something worth celebrating.

Anne was a graceful dancer, and she effortlessly outshone the other ladies, her flawless dance steps masking her partner's slight awkwardness, so that, between them, they presented a charming picture of a happy couple dancing together, delighting in one another's company. Near them, Harry was dancing with Elizabeth, doing his best to emulate his father but finding it somewhat difficult to twirl a partner who was taller than he was. Once the first dance was over, they traded partners, so that Anne danced with her son and Elizabeth with her father.

Mary couldn't remember the last time she saw her parents dance, as her mother had rarely taken part in the dancing, at least not when Mary was old enough to attend, but she could remember the occasions when her father had danced with her, singling her out from all of the ladies of the court, and bowing low before her, as though she was a grown woman and the highest lady in the land, before he offered his hand to her to lead her to the centre of the dance floor.

_"May I have this dance, my princess?" His eyes were warm and loving and full of pride as he regarded her, his large hand extended, waiting for her to place her small hand in his._

_It was the last night of the Emperor's visit, and the marriage contract that would bind Mary to him as his future bride, ensuring that, when she reached her twelfth birthday, she would be Queen of Spain and Holy Roman Empress, was signed that afternoon, amid many assurances of friendship from both monarchs. The day before, when the warm weather allowed them to enjoy dinner and dancing outside, the Emperor had led Mary out to dance, much to her delight, but tonight she was even happier to have her beloved Papa seek her out to dance with him._

_"Of course, Papa." She told him, dipping a graceful curtsey before placing her hand in his so that he could lead her out onto the floor, with her mother and the courtiers applauding them, delighting in the pretty picture that father and daughter presented as they joined hands and began to dance._

_As the Princess of England, and the heiress to the throne, Mary's governess and tutors spent long hours teaching her the many things she would need to know when she was a grown woman, and Queen of England, but although Mary studied hard at every subject she taught her, and although she enjoyed all of her lessons, her favourite lessons were the ones she took in music and dancing. Her father was a fine musician and she knew that he loved to know that she shared his passion, and enjoyed performing for him on the lute or showing him how well she danced, knowing that he would be pleased and proud and enjoying the praise he lavished on her for her accomplishments._

_Mary didn't miss a step as they danced, holding her father's hands in hers and skipping and jumping in time to the music, happily conscious of her father's pleasure and pride, and in the pride and love she could feel exuding from her mother at the sight of the two people she loved above all others dancing together. She let out a squeal of surprised delight when her father bent down and caught her around the waist, lifting her high in the air and swinging her around._

_When he set her on her feet again, she felt a little dizzy but her beaming smile was wide._

_Of all the little girls in the world, she was sure that God had blessed her with the best, kindest and most wonderful father that any daughter could wish for._

_Before he brought her back to her governess, he knelt down in front of her, kissing her hand before he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "I love you, Mary." He told her softly. "Always remember that you are my little princess, my perfect pearl of the world."_

She was so happy that night, thrilled to dance with her father before the court and before her future husband, who had made many complimentary remarks about her to her mother, remarks that her mother had repeated to her later on – though Mary could guess, with hindsight, that her mother had not repeated all of the Emperor's compliments, for fear that too much praise would make her young daughter grow vain – and she had no way of knowing what was to come.

Anne had been at court then, and had just joined her mother's service as a lady-in-waiting, and it was while she was at court in that capacity that she had caught the eye of Mary's father.

Within a year of the Emperor's visit, and of the night when Mary's father danced with her and told her how much he loved her, he had made up his mind that he would dissolve his marriage to her mother so that he could offer Anne Boleyn marriage, willing to take this step despite the price his own daughter would have to pay in order for him to have his freedom.

Now, her father was dancing with Elizabeth, twirling her around the dance floor, his eyes shining with pride as he watched her move almost as gracefully as her mother did, the green and gold skirts of her costume flying and the gold crown she wore gleaming in the firelight, making it look as though her red-gold hair was surrounded by a halo that glowed like the setting sun.

Just as he had when Mary was a child, he swept Elizabeth up into his arms and twirled her around, spinning her so fast that her legs flew out and the other dancers had to give them a wide berth, for fear of being kicked if they stood too close to them. When he set Elizabeth on her feet again, taking her hands in his so that they could resume the dance, Mary could see, even from the other side of the room, that her little sister's cheeks were flushed with pleasure, betraying her delight at the attention and affection their father was lavishing on her.

Having witnessed the interactions between her half-siblings and their parents, Mary was of the opinion that, while Harry loved and admired their father, his chief devotion was reserved for Anne. For Elizabeth, she loved and was loved by the mother who adored her firstborn but she worshipped her father, delighting in his attention as Mary once had and cherishing his praise and admiration whenever she received it, little realizing that, had Harry not followed her into the world within three years of her birth, it was likely that her mother would have been set aside in favour of another woman, as Mary's mother once was, and that she would have found herself declared a bastard and displaced in her father's affections by the children that his new wife bore him.

Elizabeth would probably never realize just how fortunate she was to have a living brother, and how fortunate she was that her father still cherished her as his perfect princess.

Mary had certainly never realized how easily she would find herself rejected, at her father's whim, when she was a child and still enjoyed her love and, despite everything, she couldn't feel sorry to see how much her father loved her little sister. She was just sorry that she was no longer allowed to share in that love, sorry that her father couldn't lavish her with the same affection, sorry to know that he would never again behave as lovingly towards her as he once had.

It was not just that he had rejected her mother and believed that, by extension, the daughter she had borne him must also be exiled from his life. He would have welcomed her back to court and loved her as his daughter if, when Elizabeth was a baby and Anne had invited her back to court and offered to reconcile her with her father in exchange for acknowledging that Anne was Queen, she had accepted that offer and told her father what he wished to hear, making him believe that she sided with him in the Great Matter, not with her mother, who was fighting for her daughter's birthright with every ounce of strength she possessed. He might have called her a bastard but he would have cherished her as his firstborn child, and she would have kept that place in his heart.

There were two things he could not forgive her for, one thing she had done, and one she hadn't.

He could not forgive her for siding with her mother in the Great Matter instead of with him, and he could not forgive her for the part he believed her to have played in Brereton and Chapuys' scheme to poison Anne before she could bear a son who would become her father's heir.

But for that, she might still be loved as the pearl of his world.

She could feel unshed tears burning the backs of her eyes and she felt mortified at the thought of bursting into tears here, before the whole court, when everybody around her was happy and celebrating. If they saw her weep, they would probably assume that she was unhappy to see that the little boy whose birth had robbed her of much of the support she had once enjoyed from people who viewed her as the rightful heir had reached the age of five and was as healthy and bright a boy as any mother could wish for, little realizing that she did not begrudge Harry his title as Prince of Wales anywhere near as much as she regretted that he and Elizabeth enjoyed the love of the father who no longer showed her the same love he showed his other children.

"Lady Mary?" Charles Howard's smile was a friendly one as he approached her. "May I have this dan..." He trailed off, seeing the distressed expression on her face. Threading his arm through hers, he drew her away, slipping out into the corridor, where they could enjoy relative privacy. "What's the matter, my lady?" He asked, concerned.

Mary just shook her head, unwilling to give voice to the pain she felt at seeing her father with his other children. "I can't stay in there." She insisted instead, drawing back from Charles, even though she knew better than to think that he would try to push her to return to the Great Hall to rejoin the celebration. "I have to get away from here."

"Alright." His voice was calm and soothing. "Nobody will miss us, I'm sure of it." All eyes would be on the royal family, he knew that, so he couldn't imagine that anybody would be watching to see what Mary was doing, and they would care even less about whether or not he was present. Even if they noticed his absence, nobody would think anything of it. "Where would you like to go? Would you like me to escort you back to your chamber, my lady?" He offered, thinking that this was for the best. He could tell Kitty that Mary had taken ill, in case Queen Anne _did_ notice her absence.

Mary was ready to agree but Joan would be there and, while Mary knew that, if she asked her maid to leave her alone, Joan would obey, she didn't want to see her, or anybody else right now.

She shook her head. "Not there. Somewhere quiet."

He considered for a few moments, thinking of places where they could go, places that were likely to be deserted at this hour, even by the palace servants. There was a place he could think of, but he was reluctant to voice his thought, in case Mary viewed it as insulting, but she could see from the expression on his face that he had thought of something.

"What are you thinking of, Charles?" She pressed him.

"There's my room, my lady, if it pleases you to go there." He said tentatively. "It's in my uncle's suite, but he's in the Great Hall now, and he'll be there for the rest of the night. He's not going to leave the party." His uncle was far too proud of being the great-uncle of a future King to ever dream of leaving the celebrations in Prince Harry's honour, so they had hours left before he would come back to his apartment, and he could ensure that the Lady Mary was gone by then.

He didn't know how his uncle would react if he learned that he had struck up a friendship with the King's eldest daughter but he had judged it best not to let him know, in case he disapproved. He didn't want to be left with a choice between ending his friendship with the Lady Mary or else being banished from his uncle's service, and therefore the court, if he defied his commands.

It was inappropriate for a young man to invite her to go to his room without a chaperone present, Mary knew that, just as she knew that she should refuse this invitation, in no uncertain terms, letting Charles know that she was offended that he had dared to suggest this and reminding him that, although she might no longer have the title of Princess, she was still the daughter of a King who would punish anybody who dared to dishonour his daughter, but she didn't want to refuse. The prospect of solitude, away from the court and from Joan and from everybody except Charles, who would listen to anything she wanted to say with a sympathetic ear if she wanted to talk to him but who would respect her desire for silence if she did not, was a tempting one.

"Yes." She said, allowing him to lead her away, through the corridors to Norfolk's apartment.

The room he showed her into was smaller than the one she occupied, and far more plainly furnished. It was connected to the large reception room of Norfolk's apartment, so that Charles would be within calling distance if his uncle needed anything, and contained a narrow bed, set against one wall, while a small table and two chairs dominated the remaining space. There was a fire burning in the small grate, and Charles added a couple of logs to it before he held out one of the chairs for her, with a courteous bow.

"Is there something you would like, my lady?" He asked, half-wishing that he had not suggested this. It was one thing for him to walk out in the gardens with her, when Kitty and Culpepper were nearby and he wasn't expected to do more than offer her his arm and listen to her when she spoke but, now that she was in his room, he felt as though he was her host and, as she was his honoured guest, he ought to ensure her comfort, to the best of his ability. He couldn't send a servant for food for them, as he could be sure that, even if he bribed the man to keep him quiet, he would still be happy to tell Uncle Norfolk everything in exchange for another bribe, but he could do something about drinks. "Would you like some wine?"

His uncle had received a gift of wine earlier in the week, from a petitioner who wanted him to see if he could persuade Queen Anne to accept his daughter into her household as a maid of honour. He had tried some of it but condemned it as a poor vintage and, as he had not even troubled to count the bottles, Charles could be confident that he would never miss one.

At Mary's nod, he fetched one of the bottles, together with two goblets, and he poured them both a generous measure of wine, raising his goblet in toast. "To your health, my lady."

Mary acknowledged the toast with a nod, and drank the wine, quickly emptying her goblet, but she didn't say a word. She stared into the fire, a sombre expression on her face, and when Charles refilled her goblet, she didn't seem to notice it until she raised the goblet to her lips and found that it was full. For his part, he remained silent, easily able to imagine, from the confidences Mary had shared with him in the past, that it was very difficult for her to see the celebrations in Prince Harry's honour. Whatever the rights or wrongs of the King's marriage – and Charles readily admitted that there was much about the Great Matter that he did not understand – there was a time when the young woman sitting with him was called the Princess of Wales, and when she believed that she would one day be Queen of England, and it had to be difficult for her to have lost the honours she had once enjoyed and to see her father honouring his other children.

She was halfway through her third glass of wine when she spoke. "My father is never going to love me as he once did." She remarked candidly, hurt and bitterness seeping into her tone.

"I'm sure that that's not true, my lady." Charles protested immediately.

Mary let out a humourless laugh at this. "If it wasn't, you wouldn't be calling me 'my lady'." She pointed out. "You would have to address me as 'Princess Mary', or 'Your Highness'."

He wasn't sure if she would rather hear him say that her present status was no reflection of her father's feeling towards her, as he would have had no choice but to declare her a bastard once his marriage to her mother was annulled, or if she would take offence if he implied that he believed that it was right for the King to deprive her of her title as Princess instead of finding a way to allow her to keep it, out of fatherly love for her, so he spoke the first words that came into his head.

"I don't know how any man could fail to love you... any father, I mean." He amended hastily, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks and praying that she would put it down to the heat of the fire, or else to the effects of the wine they were both drinking, and think no more of his slip.

Mary's expression softened at this. "You're very kind, Charles, kinder than anybody else at court."

As a little girl, she was betrothed to different princes, as it suited her father's purposes, with betrothals made and broken depending on the political situation. She had only met two of them in person, the Emperor and the Dauphin of France, but she had been told of each of them as the betrothals were made on her behalf, with her attendants telling her that the prince she was betrothed to was handsome and learned and devout, each man – or boy – a paragon in his own right, and she had thought fondly of each suitor, imagining what it would be like to marry them.

Now, she was several years past her twentieth birthday and knew that she could never hope to marry a prince but she thought that, if her father summoned her to him tomorrow and told her that she was to marry Charles Howard, she would not object to that, even though she knew that he had no title, and was not even a wealthy man, quite the reverse. One of his grandfather's was a duke but that was his highest claim to nobility. She would be happy if her father commanded that she marry Charles, even if it was because he wished to see her tied to a Howard, tied to a man who would never want to dispute Harry's claim to the throne on her behalf and who wouldn't have the resources to do so even if he wanted to.

He was kind, he was thoughtful, he truly cared for her and, right now, that was precious to her.

When she rose from her chair, he sprang to his feet hastily, unwilling to remain seated while she was standing, and when she cupped his chin in a gentle hand and leaned forward to kiss him, he returned her kiss eagerly at first, before withdrawing, startled by what they had done.

"My lady, perhaps we shouldn't..." He began, but she wouldn't let him finish, silencing him with another kiss before he could say another word.

Her father might no longer love her as he once did, and the court that had once bowed before her as Princess of Wales might have deserted her, but they would not take this from her.

She deserved to know what it was like to be loved.

If this was wrong of her, she no longer cared.

* * *

"I think that tonight went very well." Henry remarked, shrugging out of his velvet robe and climbing into bed next to Anne, clad only in his nightshirt. The night was warm, too warm to have a fire lit in Anne's bedchamber, and even without the fire, he still felt warm in his nightshirt. "Harry had a wonderful time, and Elizabeth enjoyed herself too." He remarked, smiling at the memory of his children's delight at the display of fireworks that had finished off the festivities. They were so excited that their governesses had a difficult time persuading them to go to bed.

No matter how much trouble he took over the festivities in honour of either child's birthday, it was always worth it once he saw how much Harry and Elizabeth enjoyed themselves.

"I think that their father enjoyed it too." Anne teased, lying on her side and propping her head up with her elbow so that she could look him in the eye as they spoke.

"And who can blame me for that?" Henry demanded, in mock-indignation, reaching out to tickle Anne under the ribs and grinning at her giggles. "Our son is five years old today, and our daughter is the most beautiful, intelligent and charming lady at court, with one exception," he touched Anne's cheek and stroked the waterfall of glossy black hair tumbling over her shoulders before leaning closer to kiss her. "Today is also the day that the most beautiful and amazing Queen England has ever had was crowned... and the day that I learned what truly mattered in life." He finished quietly, thinking of what he was doing when Harry was born, a time when Anne needed him to be there for her but he was away from her side, selfishly satisfying his own desires.

He couldn't feel sorry that Edward had been born, not now that he had met the child, and knew him, but he wished with all his heart that the boy could have been born to Anne, so that he could be a true part of their family instead of a living reminder of his infidelity, or if that could not be, that he might have been born before he ever met Anne, to one of the other women he bedded, instead of him being born to Jane, whose presence in his life had hurt Anne more than that of any of the other mistresses he took, and conceived while Anne strove to bring Harry into the world.

Why had it taken him so long to realize that Anne was his perfect match, the one woman in the world who could be everything he needed, and who could truly make him happy?

Why, after all the time he had spent fighting to be allowed to make her his wife, had he taken her for granted once his ring was on her finger, and St. Edward's Crown on her head?

Why had he shunned her bed in favour of whichever woman was willing to spread her legs for him, even wishing, with Jane, that he was still a free man so that he might make her his wife?

He had had what he truly wanted as soon as the priest pronounced that he and Anne were man and wife, so why had it taken almost losing Anne, to miscarriage or to Brereton's poison, as well as the birth of their son, to prove to him that he should be happy with Anne and their children?

"We've been happy together." Anne told him, sensing his sobering mood and wanting to cheer him up. "That's what matters. We're happy now and we're going to keep being happy." Even after Harry's birth, when her prayers were answered and Henry sent Jane Seymour away and returned to her bed, she wasn't confident that her happiness with her husband would last, taking each day as it came and feeling relieved that, when night came, Henry joined her in her bed instead of seeking out some other woman to pleasure him, perhaps one who would win his love away from her, even if she could not hope to be his Queen, and who might become his maitresse en titre.

The thought of putting up with another woman in her home, flaunting the fact that Henry loved her, and knowing that there was nothing she could do but pretend that she didn't notice, was unbearable, so much so that it was a relief to her when she didn't become pregnant after Harry was born and she resumed normal marital relations with Henry, instead of a source of grief because she knew that, as long as he could share her bed, he was less likely to stray.

Now, she felt sure of his love and, after five years of fidelity, unafraid that her place in his heart would ever be challenged by another woman.

"Yes, we are." Henry agreed with her, his hand moving from her face to trace the smooth curve of her neck, down to her breasts, before he grasped the hem of her nightgown in one hand and lifted it. He bent down to kiss the soft skin of her thigh, caressing her gently before kissing her lips. She returned the kiss, settling into his embrace. "I love you, sweetheart." He whispered in her ear.

"I love you too."

As always when they were together, their bodies mingled and their respective attendants far away from them, the rest of the world melted away, leaving only them, and their love.

* * *

The festivities had begun to wind down once the Prince and Princess were brought to bed by their governesses, and once the King and Queen retired for the night, but there were still a large group of courtiers still in the Great Hall, dancing and eating and drinking wine, some of them clustered in small groups, chatting about the festivities and about the royal children.

Norfolk had stayed up for the night, watching his niece and Thomas Culpepper, who seemed to be inseparable. When he asked Anne to accept Catherine as a member of her household, it was his hope that a good match could be found for her, to a suitable knight or minor noble, the best that she could hope for, despite her Howard blood, given that her father had not been a rich man. Now, however, it seemed that she had cast her eye on a gentleman of her choice. Culpepper had a good post in the King's Privy Chamber, and was quite favoured by him, so perhaps the girl could do worse for herself. Anne would probably be able to coax the King into giving Culpepper some land or stewardships, so that he would be able to support a wife.

If it worked out, he could wash his hands of his brother's daughter with a clear conscience, knowing that he had done his duty and seen to it that the girl was provided for, just as he had done his duty by her brother by bringing him to court in his service, so that he too would have his choice to be noticed in royal circles, and to establish a place for himself at court.

As he began to think about Charles, he glanced around the Great Hall, not seeing his nephew there, but he was not unduly concerned by this. Charles had never been a wild youth, like some of his contemporaries in the extended Howard family.

It was past midnight when he retired to his own quarters, and he was disgruntled to see that none of his servants were around. As was usually the case when there was a particularly spectacular feast in the palace, there was plenty of rich food left over and he didn't doubt that his lowborn servants were in the kitchens, enjoying themselves hugely, while his highborn attendants were either still at the festivities or else amusing themselves elsewhere in the palace.

The door to Charles' room was open a crack, and there was a dim light in the room.

Norfolk approached, intending to wake his nephew, so that he could assist him, but when he opened the door, the sight that greeted him was enough freeze him on the spot.

Charles was sound asleep, sprawled on his back in the bed, one arm draped around the slumbering young woman at his side, something that would not have troubled Norfolk, if not for the fact that the young woman in question was no servant girl, or even a maid of honour, she was the King's eldest daughter.

Norfolk watched the sleeping couple for several minutes, his gaze cold and hard as stone, debating on what he ought to do, and then he finally shut the door and headed to his own bedchamber.

Charles was an early riser, and if he possessed a modicum of sense, he would be able to smuggle the Lady Mary out of the room once he did. Norfolk wasn't going to involve himself in that.

He could deal with his foolish nephew in the morning.


	35. Chapter Thirty-Four

**_4th June 1541_ **

Although Norfolk had deemed it best to wait until after the royal children and their companions and attendants returned to Eltham Palace before he dealt with his nephew, in case the foolish boy decided to make a fuss, something the King was unlikely to forgive the Howards for if it spoiled any part of the Prince and Princess' visit to court, as he was always determined that their visits should be enjoyable for the children and for Anne, but once the procession had set off for Eltham Palace, accompanied by carts laden with the gifts that were showered on the little Prince of Wales in honour of his birthday, he wasted no time in sending for Charles, ordering one of his pages to fetch his nephew to his apartment and to ensure that the other servants were not within earshot.

This was a matter for the Howard family, and one to be kept strictly private. He certainly didn't want any of the other lords at court hearing of Charles' exploits with the Lady Mary, well aware of the fact that if he had learned that the son or the nephew of another nobleman had compromised the King's daughter, he would have lost no time in reporting the matter to the King, knowing that when the King heard of it, his anger towards the transgressors would be terrible to behold, and that he might even feel some gratitude towards the man who reported the matter to him.

Over the past few days, he had carefully considered the question of what he ought to do with Charles, at one point debating about whether he should try to speak to Anne first, to see if she would be willing to speak to Henry on Charles' behalf, so that he and the Lady Mary might be able to be married, but he had decided against it.

While it was likely that Anne would have been willing to speak for the couple, both out of family affection for Charles, as she had shown herself to be happy to aid her kinsmen however she could, and out of a desire to see the Lady Mary, whose service as a lady-in-waiting was far from comfortable for either of them, removed from her household without her needing to take the step of asking the King to remove her – though he could not understand why she cared, Anne was careful about not making additional trouble for the girl – and while Charles was unlikely to be able to aim higher for his bride, as even the Howard name could not compensate for his lack of wealth and clout, Norfolk was unsure of how the King would react to such a proposal.

It was true that he seemed to have little interest in making a royal match for his eldest daughter.

While the idea of marrying the Lady Mary to the Duke of Cleves was briefly broached in the past, nothing had ever come of it and there were few offers made for the young woman's hand – unsurprising, considering her bastard status and her exclusion from the succession – and the King had not been interested in including a marriage for Lady Mary in any of his negotiations with other monarchs. It was clear to Norfolk, and to every other member of the Privy Council, that while the King had once considered the question of Mary's marriage to be an issue of paramount importance, when she was a child and still called Princess of England, it was no longer a pressing matter for him. He was far more interested in seeing his children by Anne royally married.

If the King did not intend to hold his daughter's hand in his keeping so that he might have a bride of royal blood, though illegitimate, to offer to a minor royal, should the need for such an alliance arise, it could be that he would be glad of the chance to accept an offer of marriage for her, glad to be able to see his daughter settled and knowing that, if she was to marry an ordinary English gentleman, he would not need to supply the Lady Mary with a dowry as tenth as large as the one that a royal suitor would expect his bride to bring to him. He might even be grateful to have such a match suggested to him, as he would be able to placate his conscience with assurances that he had done well for Mary by accepting a match with a husband she would be able to care for, telling himself that there was no need for him to seek a better match for his eldest daughter.

However, he might also be angry if one of his subjects, even the highest-ranking peer in England, presumed to suggest that a daughter of the King should be married to his nephew, a boy who did not hold a peerage, who did not have a substantial inheritance with which to support a bride, and who would be dependent on the generosity of his future father-in-law if he and the Lady Mary were to live in a manner that befitted her status as an acknowledged daughter of the King... and, worse still, he might be suspicious about why such a marriage was being proposed.

At best, he might think that this was a way of securing advancement on Charles' behalf.

At worst, he might wonder if Norfolk intended this as a means of securing his position against every contingency, so that, in the unlikely event of the Prince of Wales being rejected as his father's heir ahead of the Lady Mary, she would at least be married into the Howard family, so that they would not suffer during her reign. If he believed that Norfolk was making provision for Mary's succession, he could easily decide to construe that as treason. Since the King learned of the Lady Mary's involvement in the attempt on Anne's life, he had been more determined than ever to see to it that she would never be given a chance to succeed him, and woe betide the man who attempted to champion the cause of her restoration as Princess.

When the rebels of St. Barbara's tried to call for Mary to be restored ahead of Princess Elizabeth, they might easily have paid for their mistake with their lives, if the King had not shown mercy.

Norfolk had no intention of repeating their mistake.

There would be no marriage between Charles and Mary, and the King would be given no cause to doubt that Norfolk was anything other than utterly loyal to Prince Harry and Princess Elizabeth.

When Charles appeared, he knelt to greet his uncle, an innocent expression on his face. Norfolk was not taken in by the innocence of his expression, however, nor was in any mood to be patient with any foolish games that his nephew might want to play. If Charles did not realize the danger in which he had placed the Howard family with his idiocy, it was past time he learned.

Norfolk sat down at his heavy, carved desk, motioning for Charles to stand in front of him. He did not invite his nephew to sit. "You have been very foolish, boy." He began without preamble, staring at the boy with stony eyes and wondering how Charles had ever dared to bed the King's daughter. His own son Henry, Earl of Surrey, could be reckless when he wanted to be and Norfolk would not have been entirely surprised to learn that he had set out to seduce the King's daughter, suspecting that his son would consider it a feather in his cap to achieve this aim, but he had never imagined that Charles possessed such gumption. If he had, he would have paid much closer attention to his budding friendship with the Lady Mary, instead of dismissing it as no real cause for concern on his part, believing that no harm could come of it as it would never go further than a few walks in the garden and dances. "Did you think that nobody would discover what you did?"

"I don't understand what you mean, Uncle." Charles tried to feign ignorance but his attempt availed him nothing, earning him a black glare from his uncle.

"Don't try to lie to me, you stupid boy, especially when I am trying to help you!" Norfolk snapped at him. "I saw you and the Lady Mary with my own eyes, and it was clear what you were doing." Charles' cheeks became bright pink at the realization that what he had thought to be a private moment had been witnessed by his uncle but Norfolk was unsympathetic. "If she was not the King's daughter, I would have flung her from my apartment with my own hands, so that all the court could know her for a strumpet, and you would have followed after her."

"I would like to marry the Lady Mary, Uncle." Charles said, with a dignity that his uncle would never have imagined that he could possess. "It is right and proper that I should, and it is what she and I want." As he had taken the Lady Mary's maidenhead, he would have felt himself duty-bound to marry her even if he did not care for her in the least but he was sure that he could truly love her, if they were united as man and wife, and he truly wanted to marry her. Lady Mary was distressed when they woke in the morning, upset to learn that she had shared the bed of a man who was not her husband. He did his best to calm her, vowing that he thought no less of her and promising that, with her permission, he would see to it that they could be married.

He knew that he should not be surprised that his uncle was angry with him. In his shoes, he would probably be very angry with a nephew who bedded the King's daughter, dishonouring a lady who should be treated with nothing but respect and honour. However, he took it as an encouraging sign that his uncle had voiced his intention to help him. He could deal with Norfolk's rage if, when that rage died down, his uncle was able to advise him on how best he could go about ensuring that he and Mary would be able to be married, and as soon as possible.

"What in God's name makes you think that His Majesty would ever deem you worthy of being his son-in-law?" Norfolk demanded, not wanting to let the boy cling to hope of a happy ending here.

"I am a Howard." Charles pointed out, lifting his chin proudly. While it was true that his father had not been a wealthy man, or a man who succeeded in carving out an illustrious career for himself, despite the fact that he had been assisted, both by his brother and by his niece, when she came to power, that did not change the fact that he was a member of one of the noblest families in England. He was the grandson of the Duke of Norfolk, who had led the English troops to victory during the Battle of Flodden Field, and he had just as much Howard blood flowing through his veins as his uncle's children, or even Queen Anne. He knew that there was a time when the King sought to betroth Mary to a prince or monarch but, since he no longer seemed to wish to see his eldest daughter marry royally, why should he object to her marrying a Howard? He would certainly never need to worry that Charles would be disloyal to his cousin or her children.

"A penniless Howard." His uncle pointed out brutally. "A Howard without a title. A Howard who was only permitted to come to court through my patronage. What good do you think the name of Howard is to you or to the Lady Mary when you do not have the means to live as a lord should?"

It was on the tip of Charles' tongue to point out that the King could give them estates, and a title if he wished to see his grandchildren as peers of England one day, but he closed his mouth and left the words unsaid. If he said something like that, his uncle would undoubtedly believe that this was the reason why he had lain with the Lady Mary, and that was not the case. The prospect of wealth and titles was the furthest thing from his mind when he lay with her in his arms and he did not want to cheapen their time together by pretending that it was for material gain.

"Queen Anne is my cousin." He said, telling himself that, if the Queen knew of this, she would be kind to them, kinder by far than his uncle was. She might not be especially fond of Mary but there was no reason why she should object to seeing her stepdaughter married and happy, and she was so kind to Kitty that he was sure that she would be kind to him if he told her of his plight. He might be a penniless Howard, and therefore of low standing in his uncle's regard, but the Queen wanted to see all of her family prosper, including the children of Charles' father. Everybody at court knew how much store the King set by her opinions, and if anybody could persuade him to agree to the match, it would be Queen Anne. "If she would speak for us..."

"Are you telling me that you expect the Queen of England to go to her sovereign lord to ask that her penniless cousin might marry his daughter because he has bedded her already?" Norfolk demanded in icy tones, knowing that he needed to ensure that Charles would not dare to approach Anne without his leave. Anne could be too soft-hearted for her own good, not to mention the good of her family, and it was possible that, if Charles asked her, she would agree to speak to the King on his behalf, and the Lady Mary's. The last thing they needed was for the King to be angry with her if he decided that she was trying to use his daughter to advance her cousin, and Norfolk could not be certain that the King would not react badly to the suggestion.

No ally of Anne's wanted to see a return to the days when the King ignored his wife in favour of mistresses and Norfolk intended to prevent it, even if that meant protecting Anne from herself.

Put that way, it sounded unreasonable to expect that of the Queen but Charles was desperate. "I can still ask her. If she says 'no', that's her choice but I can ask, at least."

"I will not have you making Her Majesty feel pressured to agree to help you in this fruitless endeavour." Norfolk told his nephew stonily, inwardly resolving to see to it that Charles was watched until he could be removed from court, so that he couldn't seek Anne out. He could take no chances with the young fool. "We will deal with this matter ourselves, privately."

"How?" Charles asked, wondering what it was his uncle had planned for him, if he did not intend to help ensure that he and Mary would be able to marry. If he could not appeal to the Queen – and his uncle would never give him an opportunity to do so behind his back – then his fate was in his uncle's hands, and God knew what he intended to do.

"I am not going to tell His Majesty of your behaviour." Norfolk stated soberly, fixing his nephew with a glare, wanting him to know just how fortunate he was that his indiscretion was something that was known only to them and to the Lady Mary. If he suspected that somebody else might know, and that they might seek to tell the King, hoping to make trouble for the Howards – and perhaps even for Anne, as she too could share part of her kinsman's disgrace – he would tell the King, chancing his anger in the hope that, by being the one to tell him the sorry tale, he would ensure that he and most of the Howards would not be implicated but since it remained a secret, telling the King would do more harm than good. What the King did not know could not hurt the Howards or their standing at court. "You will leave court tonight."

Charles swallowed involuntarily, taken aback by his uncle's decree. He had anticipated that he would be sternly warned away from spending time in the Lady Mary's company again, and that he would be under extremely close scrutiny within his uncle's household, perhaps confined to quarters for the foreseeable future, until his uncle was satisfied that he had learned his lesson and that he would not attempt to see Mary in secret, but he had not expected banishment. He was the Queen's cousin, after all, and surely it would cause gossip if he suddenly disappeared from court, without a word of warning. Service at court was his big chance, so nobody would expect him to just give it up. He would have thought that his uncle would want to avoid drawing any undue attention to the family but it seemed that he was wrong. "But won't people wonder why I've gone?" He asked, hoping that his uncle would relent and choose some other punishment.

He wouldn't share a bed with Mary again, not unless she became his wife, he would not dishonour her again. His uncle did not need to be afraid of allowing him to stay at court.

"I don't imagine that your presence at court is so vital that anybody will notice that you have left. What is one more or less Howard? There are plenty of others who can take your place." Norfolk told him cuttingly. "I know that _I_ certainly will not regret your absence from my household, not when you have shown me just how little gratitude you feel for my patronage. Did it occur to you that, as I was the one who brought you to court, your mistakes reflect badly on me as well as you?" He asked, not giving Charles a chance to answer the question. "On the whole family. If the King learned of this, you would be in the Tower, and I don't doubt that your sister would soon have found herself dismissed from the Queen's service. None of your brothers or sisters would ever be welcome at court again, and I would see to it that none of the family associated with any of you. Make no mistake, nephew, I would not allow you to drag the rest of us down with you."

Charles had not imagined that Kitty would also be affected until his uncle mentioned the possibility, and the thought made him feel guilty. Like him, Kitty could boast only the Howard name and her blood connection to the Queen, for what it was worth. Their father had little to leave his sons but a legacy of debt, and there was no money to dower his daughters. When their uncle secured permission to bring her to court as a lady-in-waiting to the Queen, he knew that both he and their step-grandmother had stressed to her that this appointment was her big chance, perhaps the only chance she would ever have to carve a place for herself in the world.

A poor Howard girl would never find a good husband without help and, at best, she would be able to take shelter in the household of the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk.

As one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting, she was provided for and, if she married, the Queen would give her a dowry. Kitty had confided in him that she wished, above anything else, to be married to Thomas Culpepper but Charles knew that the Culpeppers wouldn't consent to the match unless they knew that Kitty would bring Thomas a good dowry. If she was dismissed from the Queen's service, and could no longer expect to be dowered by their cousin, their uncle would not step in to pay it, not even to see his niece well married, and he wouldn't do anything for the others.

He would wash his hands of them entirely, as he threatened.

"You are to go to Italy, to the university at Padua." Norfolk was telling him. "I don't expect that they will be able to teach you much, not with such poor foundations to build on," he remarked, seeing his nephew turn red and this allusion to his lack of education during his formative years. His brother Edmund had not had the resources to be able to keep a tutor in his employ to educate his large brood, so Charles was barely literate – and even then, he was better off than most of his siblings. "But it serves well enough as a reason for your absence, should anybody ask of you."

"Yes, uncle." Charles murmured, inwardly aghast. When he was told that he was to leave court, he had imagined that he would be sent to the country and put to work on his uncle's estates, perhaps learning from his stewards, in order to prepare him for the future when he might seek employment in such a role, or that he might be placed as a page in the household of his step-grandmother at Lambeth. At least there he would be able to have some kind of communication with his sister, who might be entrusted with messages to Mary, but Italy was another world.

Who knew how long it might be before his uncle allowed him to return?

"You will leave tonight. Make sure that you have your belongings packed by sundown. You are to remain in this apartment until your departure, and nobody will be allowed to see you, nor will you be allowed to send any messages, to anybody." At this point, Norfolk would not put it past his nephew to try to send a sentimental letter of farewell to the Lady Mary, one that, if intercepted, would tell a shrewd reader everything they needed to know about this affair, enough to give them a weapon to wield against the Howards. He was not prepared to take the chance, so the boy would be watched every moment, until he was on the ship. "You will stay in Italy for the next couple of years at least. If I am satisfied that you have learned your lesson, you may return, someday." He added, thinking that Charles needed to have hope of a return to England one day.

If he had no hope, then he might be tempted to do something foolish, like trying to sneak back into the country, perhaps even to make contact with the Lady Mary, and they did not need that.

Charles was too overcome to speak, and when his uncle motioned for him to go to his chamber, he obeyed without a word. Norfolk watched him go, a grim but satisfied expression on his face.

Although there was no denying that this affair was a difficult and unpleasant one, one that could easily have had such dire consequences for the Howard family, he was confident that he had handled the matter as well as could be expected, ensuring that the Howards would suffer no damage from their kinsman's folly. By nightfall, Charles would be gone from court, and if he learned nothing at the University of Padua, he would at least make no trouble there, so the cost of his fees would be worth it. In Italy, he could do the Howards little damage.

The Lady Mary would find out eventually that her lover was gone, and Norfolk did not care if it upset her when she found out. There would be nothing she could do about it, no way that she could make contact Charles without drawing suspicion on her head – and, as he could credit her with some sense and intelligence, even if she had been foolish about recognizing Anne as Queen for so long, she was unlikely to try to write to him. If she was sensible, she would forget Charles and concentrate on ingratiating herself with her father and stepmother, showing them that they did not need to fear that, if they should be so kind as to arrange a good marriage for her, she would repay their kindness and generosity with unfilial disloyalty and base ingratitude.

Once Charles was gone, they could put this unfortunate matter behind them, and forget about it.

It would be as though it had never happened.

* * *

**_21st June 1541_ **

"Is your brother still at court?" Mary had waited as long as she could before asking the question, but she had been unable to wait any longer, so she asked the question in a whisper as she and Kitty laid out the water bowls for washing. "I haven't seen him over the past few weeks."

She had not wanted to ask the question, and had told herself that there were any number of reasons why Charles had had to leave the court suddenly. At first she thought that the Duke of Norfolk might have journeyed to his estates, and required that his attendants should accompany him, but Norfolk was still at court, as were the rest of the young men in his train. She thought that Charles might have been sent on an errand, one so sudden that he was not able to send a message to her to let her know that he was leaving, but surely he would have been back by now. Maybe he had gone to visit his siblings but, if that was the case, wouldn't Kitty have gone too? Anne would not have refused permission if Kitty wanted to see her family.

Kitty had not mentioned that her brother was leaving court but, although Mary considered the other girl to be friendly and amiable, she knew that she was also heedless and rather self-centred. Although Kitty knew that her brother was friendly with Mary, it might simply have not occurred to her to mention to her that Charles was going to be away from court for a while, and why.

"Our Uncle Norfolk has sent him to the University of Padua, to be educated." Kitty whispered in response, a hint of pride entering her voice at the thought that her brother would study in such a prestigious university... at least she supposed it was prestigious; she knew nothing of the universities of Europe, but the one in Padua must be very good if her uncle decided to go to the expense of sending Charles there instead of sending him to one of the universities in England, which must be cheaper. Her step-grandmother might insist that she and her siblings were ignorant, not worth educating, but her Uncle Norfolk had clearly seen promise in Charles, and she loved him for it, even if she was unhappy that her beloved brother was no longer at court with her.

"Oh." Mary was surprised to hear that. It was not unusual for young gentlemen to be sent to the universities to acquire learning but Charles had never mentioned the possibility that he might be one of those sent away from court for his education. "Was it planned long?" She asked.

Kitty shook her head. "I don't think so, my lady. Charles never said anything."

"Oh." Mary wasn't sure what else she could say. She did her best to smooth her face into an expressionless mask, knowing that she should not betray her thoughts and feelings.

Norfolk couldn't know what had happened, he couldn't.

She and Charles were so careful when they woke, to find that everybody around them was sound asleep. Charles left the room first, to make sure that there was nobody stirring in the apartment or in the halls, and she had worn his cloak over her head as they hastened through the corridors to her own apartment. If anybody saw them, they would have assumed that she was a serving wench or maid in waiting sneaking back from a tryst. They would never have suspected the King's daughter. When she reached her room, she was relieved to find it empty and learned from Joan the next morning that her maid had joined the other palace servants for their evening revels.

Her secret was safe and, as she was unlikely to marry and have a husband who would recognize that she was no longer a virgin, it would remain safe.

She did her best to smile, so that Kitty would not wonder at her reaction to the news. "I hope that your brother will enjoy his studies, and find them profitable." She said, as casually as she could.

Kitty nodded but they had no more time to talk before the King emerged from the bedchamber, nodding at the ladies as they swept their curtsies to him.

Her father was whistling as he washed his hands and face in the bowl of water that had been poured out for him as soon as Anne's ladies-in-waiting heard the royal couple stirring in the bedchamber, their cue to begin preparations for the morning ablutions. When Mary passed him a soft linen towel with which to dry his face and hands after he was finished washing, she was pleasantly surprised to see him smile broadly at her, patting her cheek with one hand.

"Good morning, my pearl." He said kindly, leaning forward to kiss her on the forehead before handing the towel back to her and heading over to the table, where breakfast was being laid out.

Mary was stunned by her father's behaviour, especially as his affectionate greeting was clearly unstudied rather than calculated. There was no guile in his smile, nothing that would indicate that his kind words might be motivated by a desire to show that she was in favour to appease the Emperor, or for a similar reason. He did not even seem to realize that he had called her his pearl, the pet name he had used for her from time to time, when he was still married to her mother, and still cherished Mary as his only living child, the daughter he all but worshipped.

The perfect pearl of his world.

It was how he had spoken of her to foreign dignitaries who came to England, some of them charged with the task of going to see the little Princess of England, to see for themselves whether she was as pretty, clever and amiable as her doting father claimed she was, so that they could know whether or not she would be a suitable bride for one of the sons of their royal masters. When they were alone, he called her that sometimes, sweeping her into his arms to kiss her and to assure her that she was the most beautiful girl in the world, his Mary, his pearl.

He called Elizabeth his jewel of England but Mary had always been glad that he never called her little half-sister his pearl. It was still his pet name for her, and had not been usurped. Her title as Princess of England might be applied to Elizabeth now, just as her rights as the heir to the throne were given to Harry instead but even they couldn't take her place as her father's pearl.

She couldn't remember the last time he had called her his pearl.

It was certainly before he began the proceedings to annul his marriage to her mother, proceedings that, if successful, would lead to the daughter he once carried in his arms, embraced, kissed and doted upon, being branded a bastard in the eyes of the world. Once her father was resolved to marry Anne, and had made up his mind to pay whatever price he had to pay to ensure that Anne would be able to call herself Queen of England and that the children she bore him would be the Princes and Princesses of England, his heirs, Mary was sure that even he would not have been able to pretend that he was just as loving a father to her as he ever was, just as proud of the pearl of his world, not when he knew that he intended to strip her of her title as Princess.

However besotted with Anne he might have been, however focused on her he might have been, he would have known that, if he called Mary a bastard, there would be no royal marriage for her. Not only would she never be Queen of England, as she was born to be, she would never be Queen of another realm by marriage either, not if her father had his way.

He might have decided that he was willing to rob his daughter of her rightful inheritance and sacrifice her future happiness for Anne's sake but he would not have been so deceptive to be able to do this and still pretend that he loved the pearl of his world as much as he ever did. Perhaps this was why she was sent to Ludlow, so that her father would be able to continue his plans to annul his marriage to his wife and declare their daughter illegitimate without having to look at his daughter's face, knowing that her days as his princess were numbered.

What had happened to make him so kindly disposed to her now, after years spent being content to leave her as Anne's servant, preceded by years of ignoring her altogether?

Had his meeting with Edward Fitzroy, and the little boy's presentation at court, reminded him that, however much he might love Elizabeth and Harry, however dear to him they might be as his son and daughter by Anne, he had two other children too? Had he realized that Mary and Edward were as much his children as Elizabeth and Harry were, and just as deserving of his love? Had he decided that, whatever titles he might choose to call them by, all four of his living children were Tudors, with half his blood flowing in their veins, and all four should be loved?

It was what Mary had been praying for.

Even if she knew, in her heart, that her father had no intention of calling her Princess Mary again, she wanted him to love her, and for him to show that he did. If she could not have her rights as his legitimate daughter, then she wanted the affection and the honours that would have been hers if he had succeeded in persuading the Holy Father to allow him to extricate himself from his marriage to her mother. If he had won his annulment when he fought for it, he would not have intended that Mary should live as a servant, not even to his new Queen. He would have wanted her to be honoured, as Henry Fitzroy was during his lifetime, given a household of her own and treated as a King's daughter deserved to be treated.

Was that what he had planned for her now?

If Edward's arrival at court had reminded her father of the importance of family, then perhaps he might decide that it was past time that her service in Anne's household should end. She had served Anne for so long now and her stepmother had never had any complaints about her service – Mary had to own that Anne had treated her fairly since her return to court, and had not taken advantage of Mary's presence in her household to make her life miserable, as she might have done. By now, her father must know that she could be trusted, if he allowed her more freedom.

When Anne emerged from her bedchamber, wrapped in her robe, she greeted Mary with a smile but Mary thought that her stepmother looked a little tired. Her father must have noticed it too, because he sprang to his feet, gently guiding Anne over to the table and seating her in the chair closest to the fire, pouring a goblet of fruit juice for her and piling her plate with a little of everything, as though she had no hands to do it for herself. Mary half expected to see him cut Anne's meat for her, and spread her bread with the freshly churned butter.

She was not one of the ladies charged with serving at table today so, as soon as her father and Anne were engrossed in their meal, Mary took the opportunity to slip away, following Madge Shelton into the bedchamber, where the other woman was making the bed. Of all of Anne's ladies, she was closest to her sister and to Nan Saville, who had served her longest, but Lady Shelton was a close third and, more importantly, she was friendly and quite willing to gossip. Nan Saville's loyalty to her mistress led her to be somewhat suspicious of Mary, unable to forgive her for the poisoning she believed her to be involved with, and Mary knew better than to expect that Anne's sister would confide in her over any matter of importance. Lady Shelton was her best choice.

Lady Shelton smiled at Mary as she took the other side of the heavy velvet coverlet, shaking it before smoothing it into place. "Good morning, Lady Mary."

"Good morning." Mary responded, keeping her voice low, so that her father and Anne would not overhear her. "His Majesty is in a good mood this morning." She remarked, as casually as she could, praying that, if Lady Shelton knew anything, she would be willing to share her knowledge instead of hoarding it, as some ladies might.

"It's hardly surprising." Madge said casually, as she changed the pillowcases. Seeing the quizzical expression on Mary's face, she elaborated. "Her Majesty's courses were due over a week ago, and she hasn't bled yet. She's never a day late, and she's too young for her change of life, so that just leaves one other explanation, doesn't it? Not that anybody can be sure yet, of course." She added hastily, as though she was afraid of giving false hope, as though she believed Mary to be one of those who prayed for Anne to give her father another son. "It's far too early for that, but there's hope of it now, and it's the first sign in a long time, since the Prince of Wales was born."

Mary nodded at this, as though she already knew this, though only Anne's closest attendants assisted her with such personal matters as ensuring that she had a supply of linen towels on hand at the appropriate times of the month. She said nothing as she digested Madge's words, wondering why it had never occurred to her that Anne might have another child. Anne might not be a girl any more but she was not an old woman either, and it was five years since Harry's birth, but if Lady Sheldon was correct, there was not even a miscarriage in the interim.

"We all thought that it would never happen, everybody who was with her when she was carrying the Prince." Madge confided, her pleasure at the thought that, in nine months' time, England might have another royal child in the cradle, loosening her tongue, even around Mary. "She had such a difficult time then, and when she didn't become pregnant afterwards, we thought that she couldn't have more babies." Madge suspected that the King had shared her view, though she didn't say so. "This is the first time in five years that it's looked like there might be a chance. God willing, it will go well for Her Majesty, and there'll be another prince for England in the spring." She added devoutly, hoping that her mistress would have a happy hour and a healthy child.

"God willing." Mary echoed automatically, though she scarcely heard the words she spoke.

If Lady Shelton was right, this would explain her father's good mood, and his affectionate behaviour towards her. The promise of another child by Anne, another son that he could call Prince of England and Duke of York and honour as second in line for the throne after Harry was something that he would rejoice in. Even at this early stage when, for all anybody knew, Anne's courses might simply be a little late, his good humour was already leading him to treat Mary more affectionately than he had before. If Anne succeeded in giving him another son – and even another daughter would probably be a boon to her father, both as proof that he was still virile and as another princess he could use to make a dynastic marriage – what might it mean for Mary?

Would this be the thing that led her father to terminate her service in Anne's household, once and for all?

Would his delight over the arrival of his newest child make him remember his eldest child, and the way she had borne her lowered status at his course as gracefully as anybody could possibly expect her to, behaving as the dutiful, obedient daughter he once demanded that she should be?

Would he decide that she had been punished enough for her previous defiance, and that the time had come for her to be rewarded for taking the Oath and serving Anne uncomplainingly?

Perhaps the birth of Anne's child could be a blessing for her, though there was once a time when she would have said that any child born of that woman could only bring misery to her life, and to England. Elizabeth and Harry were sweet children, though they had been poisoned against her, and surely a new baby would be just as sweet, a baby she could love.

She could welcome a new baby brother or sister, and if her father and Anne were happy, that would surely bode well for her.

* * *

**_14th July 1541_ **

When Anne woke up, her stomach heaving, she ran to the bowl set on its stand as fast as she could, reaching it just in time to void her stomach.

It was still early, with only the faintest grey lights appearing in the sky, and the fire in her room was dying. She shivered slightly at the chill in the air, and an instant later, she felt a warm, strong hand on her back, rubbing it gently. When she looked up at Henry, she could see that his smile was sympathetic, though his eyes betrayed a hint of amusement, and she gratefully accepted the goblet of water he passed to her, glad to be able to rinse the sour taste from her mouth.

"Is there any more to come out, do you think?" Henry asked gently, stroking her hair back from her face and leaning forward to kiss one of her clammy cheeks. "My poor sweetheart."

"I think that's it." Anne said. Her stomach was no longer heaving, and she doubted that there could be much left in it, judging from the contents of the bowl. She leaned into Henry's embrace as he scooped her into his arms, holding her close and carrying her carefully to the bed, before setting her down on it and tucking the covers around her to stave off the chill of the morning air.

"It's time for us to send for Dr Linacre, don't you think?" Henry said, after a few moments of silence. He laid his hand over Anne's belly, which was still flat, marvelling at the thought that, over the coming months, that belly would swell and ripen with his child, as it grew within her. Anne might think that she looked bloated and ungainly when she was big with child, and that it spoiled her figure, but he thought that pregnancy made her look radiant and he had loved it when he was able to touch the swell of her belly and feel his child kick inside her.

The memory of Elizabeth's outrage when she was told that her baby brother was kicking her mother brought a smile to his face. Had that really been more than five years ago?

He had done his best not to allow his hopes to build up too high, warning himself on a daily basis that there were women who missed their courses for no particular reason, and forcing himself not to celebrate when he saw that Anne favoured fruit and refused to touch eggs, as she might simply have developed a preference for certain foods, as anybody might. Now, however, he was sure that this was not just a vain hope. What other reason was there for a woman to be sick for three mornings running and yet be perfectly healthy for the rest of the day, unless she was with child?

"It's too early." Anne objected, nodding towards the gap in the curtains, through which they could see the windows and the still dark sky. "He'll be fast asleep. We can wait a couple of hours."

Henry was tempted to send for Dr Linacre anyway, reasoning that the physician, like all Englishmen, would surely be far too pleased by the thought that there would soon be another prince or princess in the royal nursery to object to being woken early – not that he would ever dare to voice an objection, even if he was disgruntled at being dragged out of his bed at an early hour – but he decided not to go against Anne's wishes. A couple of hours would make no difference, and this was time that they could have alone, with just each other for company.

"I never thought that this would happen." He said softly, stroking Anne's hair as she snuggled closer to him. When Anne didn't become pregnant again after Harry was born, it was undeniably a disappointment to him but he had told himself that it was God's will. Between the shock of catching him with Jane, her near-miscarriage and Brereton's poison, Anne had had a horribly difficult time of it when she was pregnant with Harry and, when the years passed without any sign of another child, he thought that Harry's birth had left Anne incapable of bearing another child.

He had not said anything to her about it, of course.

The last thing he wanted was for Anne to feel pressured to give him another child, or distressed because her body would not allow her to conceive again. They had Harry, their healthy, handsome, clever son, the perfect heir to the throne, and they had Elizabeth, their beautiful, intelligent and charming daughter, a princess that any King would be proud to have at his court. If there was no other child, he knew that he could be content with what he had, and if a pregnancy would be dangerous for Anne, he didn't want to take any chances with her welfare.

Better that they should never have another child than that Anne might die bearing it.

If it was God's will that Elizabeth and Harry should be their only children, He must know His business best, so Henry had focused on his wife and on their wonderful children. He was blessed in Anne and in their children, amply blessed, and he should not be selfish, demanding more from Anne and from God when they had both given him so much already. He was content to prepare his country for the day when Harry would become their King, and certain that, when the time came, England would have a great ruler in King Henry IX. He was content to negotiate with his fellow monarchs to find the finest Prince in Christendom for Elizabeth, somebody who would be worthy of his remarkable daughter. He was content to live with Anne, to love her and be loved by her.

What more could he want than the blessings already given to him?

"Neither did I." If Anne was honest with herself, she hadn't truly wanted another child after Harry was born... no, it wasn't that she had not wanted another child, she could welcome a dozen children or more, and would have liked to give Elizabeth and Harry more siblings to play with, but she had not wanted to be pregnant again. As her father had told her, years ago, when she was pregnant with her second child, it was natural for a man to seek out other women when his wife was carrying his child. She could not lie with him, not once she reached a more advanced stage in her pregnancy, as she could not take any chances with the health and safety of the precious baby she carried, and if he could not wait for her, he would look elsewhere.

With Elizabeth, it was Lady Eleanor Luke who, thankfully, she was able to remove from her household without Henry interceding to ensure that the woman was reinstated. The possibility had not occurred to her at the time but, with hindsight, she was grateful that Henry had not objected to Lady Eleanor's removal, even if he did not believe her story about her jewels, and commanded that she should be brought back to court at once. She didn't know how she would have borne it if everybody at court knew that Henry had countermanded her orders like that, obliging her to reinstate a lady she had ordered dismissed, when they would all have known exactly why Lady Eleanor's presence at court was desired. Her enemies would have enjoyed mocking her, and Chapuys would have lost no time in writing gloating letters to the Emperor, to Katherine and to the Lady Mary, telling them that her hold on Henry's heart was already beginning to fail.

With her second child, she took her father's advice, and encouraged Madge to become Henry's mistress, accepting her father's reasoning that, if Henry had to take a mistress, it should be somebody she trusted. She would never need to worry about Madge seeking to undermine her position or that of her daughter so that she might speak for Katherine and Mary – she wouldn't have been surprised to learn that Chapuys had sought to place a lady in Henry's bed to speak for them – but it still hurt to know that her husband was spending time with another woman.

She bore the pain as best she could, along with the stress of knowing that there was rampant speculation circulating through the court, with people wondering about whether she was to be supplanted in Henry's affections by her own cousin, and in the end, she lost her child. Nobody ever told her if it was a boy or a girl, and she didn't dare to ask.

With Harry, Jane Seymour was the one who captured Henry's attention, and that woman was a greater threat to her than any other mistress Henry took because she and her family were ambitious. Katherine was dead and, while that meant that one burden was lifted from Anne's shoulders, it was replaced by another burden that was just as heavy; with Katherine gone, Henry had no incentive to keep her as his Queen if she failed to give him a son. The Seymours knew this, and they hoped that that wench Jane might sit on Anne's throne, whelping brats who would supplant Anne's children. They had failed in their goal but not before causing her months of worry and, even now little Edward Fitzroy was a living reminder of that bleak time.

With this pregnancy, there would be... nobody.

She was as sure of this as she had ever been about anything in her life. For five years, Henry had been her faithful husband and she was sure that even a pregnancy would not change that. She could take care of herself over the coming months, denying him his conjugal rights once Dr Linacre deemed it advisable, and she could do so without worrying that he would stray.

It was a liberating feeling, one that allowed her to feel untainted delight in her condition.

"What will we call him?" Henry asked eagerly, stroking her belly gently. "Our Duke of York. Thomas, do you think, for your father? Or we could name him George, for your brother, or Arthur for mine. Your father's father was William, wasn't he?" He combed his mind, trying to remember the details of Anne's family tree. The Boleyn family might feel embarrassment at the thought that one of their ancestors was a merchant, and Lord Mayor of London, but as far as he was concerned, no family that produced Anne could be anything other than equal to the noblest families in England. "William is a good name." At one time, when he was sure that he and Katherine would fill the royal nursery with half a dozen princes at least, he wanted to name one of them Edward, for his mother's father, but his son by Jane was named Edward, and it wouldn't be fair to use the name for his half-brother, which might make him feel as though he was being replaced.

"It might be a girl." Anne pointed out. This pregnancy was almost a miracle, and she didn't care whether it resulted in the birth of a son or of a daughter. She didn't want Henry to be disappointed, whatever happened. Boy or girl, this baby was theirs and he or she would be loved.

"I already know what we'll be calling her, if you've got our daughter in there." Henry said, as though this should be obvious. "She'll be Anne, for the most beautiful, intelligent and perfect woman in the world, and for the finest Queen that England has ever had."

Anne smiled at this, and they lay in one another's arms, waiting for morning to break. When the day dawned, and the first of Anne's ladies appeared, she was immediately dispatched to fetch Dr Linacre, and warned to ensure that none of the other ladies entered the room until they were summoned. When Dr Linacre arrived, he was slightly breathless from his haste.

"Is everything alright, Your Majesties?" He asked, looking from one to the other and wondering which of them required his services. Neither of them looked unwell. In fact, they were both smiling broadly, their joy apparent as soon as he looked at them. His gaze strayed down to the King's hand, placed protectively over the Queen's belly, and he understood, even before she began to explain about her missed courses, and being ill in the mornings. With her permission, he prodded her belly gently, asking a few questions about her symptoms, not wanting to get their hopes up if this was just a false alarm, and when he finished, he smiled, happy for them. "Congratulations, Your Majesties. If I am correct, the child is due in the early spring, God willing."

They were delighted but he could see from the expression on the King's face that he had some worries. "Is there any danger to the Queen, or to our child? After what happened last time..." He glanced down at Anne, tightening his grasp of her slightly, as though to reassure himself that she was still there. "Does she need to stay in bed until the baby is born?"

"I do not believe that this will be necessary, Your Majesty." Dr Linacre was sure that, if he had not been quick to speak, the Queen would have wasted no time in objecting to this suggestion, and he couldn't blame her for that. While, after her near-miscarriage, he had deemed it best to keep her confined to bed until Prince Harry was born, for fear that any over-exertion or emotional distress could cause her to lose the child she carried, that was not necessary this time. The Queen was in good health, and had every chance of coming through this pregnancy without any unusual difficulties. In that case, forcing her to remain in bed for close to eight months, depriving her of fresh air and exercise, would do her and the baby more harm than good. He turned to Anne. "As long as Your Majesty takes care to rest frequently, and to take only moderate exercise, nothing strenuous, and observes a good, wholesome diet, you and the child will both do well."

"Are you certain that there is nothing more we need to do? No precautions we should take?" The King pressed, unwilling to be easily reassured.

Dr Linacre was ready to say 'no' but he thought better of it. while the Queen was in good health, and while he was confident in her ability to carry this child to term without needing to be confined to bed for the duration of her pregnancy, there was no harm in taking an added precaution, for the sake of mother and child, so he made a different suggestion instead.

* * *

**_17th July 1541_**

****__

When George reached his sister's apartment in the morning, he stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he saw the new arrival to Anne's household, his eyes widening in recognition.

"Not you again!" He blurted, before he could stop himself.

"My lord." Mistress Porter dipped a curtsey to him. If she was offended by his less than respectful greeting, she gave no indication of it, opting to busy herself with preparing a tonic for Anne.

George was glad to escape her, moving over to where Anne was sitting on the couch and bending down so that he could kiss her on the cheek. "Congratulations, Anne." He said warmly, reaching out to squeeze her hand. "Papa just told me. You and the King must be overjoyed."

"We are." Anne confirmed, returning his smile.

"Even though it means that you have that dragon back with you?" George asked teasingly, though in a hushed voice. Mistress Porter had always given him the impression that she wouldn't mind clouting him with a wooden spoon if he did something that she truly objected to, or something that might put Anne and the baby at risk, and he certainly wasn't going to take that chance.

"Be nice." Anne reproved him, though she was smiling as she said it. "She was very helpful when I was carrying Harry." Her son might not have been born, might not have been the perfect, healthy little boy that he was if not for the exemplary care that both Mistress Porter and Dr Linacre had given her during her pregnancy, so when Dr Linacre suggested that it might be wise for her to have a midwife in her household for the duration of this pregnancy, to ensure that she and the baby were given all the care they needed, she had agreed with his suggestion, not even objecting when he recommended that Mistress Porter should resume her post. If it helped her have a healthy child this time, she would be happy to welcome Mistress Porter back.

"She could put the fear of death into a corpse." George said bluntly, remembering the rules Mistress Porter had implemented, the last time she was placed in charge of Anne's care, and the many restrictions placed on her diet and entertainment. He reached out to pluck the book Anne was holding from her hands, making a show of examining the title, an appropriately grave and stern expression on his face. "Are you sure that you're going to be allowed to read this?" He asked teasingly. "It might be too exciting for you – nothing that might disturb you too much." He yelped in protest when Anne took the book back from him and smacked his shoulder with it. "Truce!"

"Only if you behave yourself." Anne warned, placing her book back on the side table so that she could concentrate on her brother. "How are Nell and Tommy?"

"They're fine." George reported. "Nell hasn't let go of that doll you gave her since she got it. She takes it everywhere with her, and even sleeps with it at night. Her nurse tells me that she had a hard time persuading her not to have it in the bath with her." He chuckled at the thought. His stubborn little daughter could rarely be coaxed into changing her mind, once she had decided on a particular course of action, but in this instance, victory had gone to her nurse. Nell might have wanted to bring her doll into the bath with her, but not so badly that she was willing to take the risk that the warm, soapy water would wash away its face so she had admitted defeat.

"You love her very much, don't you?" Anne said, touching her stomach and hoping that, if the child she carried was a daughter, Henry would welcome her as warmly as George had welcomed Nell. Not many noblemen were as pleased to welcome a daughter into their family as they were to welcome a son, especially when that daughter was their firstborn, but George had all but worshipped Nell since the moment of her birth, as though he truly did not care that she was not a son and heir. What would it have been like if Henry had been able to welcome Elizabeth so unreservedly, trusting that God would send them a son in time and delighting in his daughter in the meantime, rather than feeling dismayed that she was not the boy he wanted?

"She's my little girl." George said simply. He loved Tommy, and was proud of his son's good looks, which were already apparent, and the rapid progress he was making, but Nell was his darling, and he was not ashamed to admit it, even though he knew that his father was bewildered by his attitude. Perhaps it was the fact that he knew that his father was dismayed that his first grandchild to bear the name Boleyn was a granddaughter that made him so protective of Nell, so determined that she would always know just how dearly loved she was. "How are you, Anne?" He asked, turning the conversation to his sister. He scrutinized her face, feeling pleased to see that her skin was glowing with health. During her pregnancy with Harry, there were times when he worried about her but the sight of her now was a reassuring one.

He thought that she looked much younger than her thirty-two years, strong enough to bear triplets, if need be, and he was glad to see it.

"I'm fine." She assured him, glad to know that she was speaking the truth, and did not need to pretend in order to keep him from worrying. Aside from her morning sickness, which never troubled her after mid-morning, she felt in perfect health and, with Dr Linacre and Mistress Porter on hand to watch over her and the baby, she should stay that way until her delivery time. She knew that other women who had passed their thirtieth birthday might worry about the possibility that, if they did not lose their child, they might die in childbirth but she couldn't believe that this would happen to her. She and Henry had been through far too much and come too far together for their story to end like that so she was certain that everything would go well for her.

The baby she carried was a blessing, somebody who would bring good to the world, never harm.

* * *

**_22nd July 1541_**

"Maybe you should send for Dr Linacre, my lady." As a rule, Joan was not a young woman who was prone to panicking. She usually took difficulties in stride, dealing with the coolly and competently, and this was not the first time that she had been called upon to assist her mistress when the Lady Mary was unwell. However, she had to admit that she was alarmed by the persistent stomach trouble her mistress had suffered from over the past few days. "This sickness is not going away by itself, so maybe a physician could give you a remedy for it. Dr Linacre is supposed to be the best physician in England, isn't he? Surely he could help you."

She couldn't imagine that either the King or the Queen would object to the idea of the King's own daughter utilizing the services of the royal physician, not when the Lady Mary was so unwell. Whatever else might have passed between them, the King could not fail to have a care for his daughter's health, under the circumstances, and he would want her to be cared for.

She was ready to summon a servant to take a message to Dr Linacre, asking him to attend upon the Lady Mary as soon as possible, but she was forestalled by Mary's determined refusal.

"There is no need to trouble Dr Linacre – he will have his hands full with the Queen, in any case." She added, feeling grateful that Anne's pregnancy was attracting so much attention, ensuring that none of it settled on her now, when she would find it very inconvenient to be subject to scrutiny. She doubted that Anne's other ladies had even noticed that she had not appeared to tend to Anne this morning, or any morning this past week. Everybody's thoughts were on the royal infant in Anne's womb and, for the time being, that suited Mary very well.

There was little Dr Linacre could do for her in any case.

If she was right about the cause of her illness, then not only would her symptoms persist for another couple of months at least, a little nausea would be the least of her troubles.


	36. Chapter Thirty-Five

**_12th September 1541_ **

In the almost two months since she was recruited to tend to Anne for the duration of her pregnancy, and to assist in the delivery of the royal child due in the spring, Mistress Porter had ensured that, despite the fact that she was a commoner, even the highborn ladies who attended Anne did not dare to defy her when she gave them an instruction. Dr Linacre had, with the permission of the King and Queen, given her leave to issue directions as she saw fit in order to ensure the survival and health of the royal mother and baby, and she was not shy about exerting her authority, especially as she was aware that she could be blamed if something went wrong. Those who were part of Anne's household when Harry was born remembered what it was like then, and had not even tried to argue with her, and any more recent arrival who balked at taking instructions from a woman whose birth was so much lower than theirs was swiftly put in her place.

Mistress Porter behaved respectfully towards Anne and towards Henry at all times, showing them the deference they were due as King and Queen, but she did not pander to any of Anne's ladies. She made her expectations known to them and expected them to obey the instructions she gave them to the letter, without complaining or arguing if they disliked the task she assigned them. She knew that she had no need to worry about the consequences of displeasing one of the ladies. She had helped bring the Prince of Wales into the world and, as a result, earned the gratitude of the royal couple, who had amply rewarded her for her assistance, and now they were counting on her to repeat her success by helping the Queen deliver another healthy child.

If one of the ladies complained that her manner was overbearing, Mistress Porter would not be the one dismissed, and they all knew it.

The health of the baby Anne carried was of far more importance than the pride of a lady-in-waiting who felt slighted to think that a midwife was allowed to tell her what to do.

For her part, Mary did not object to following Mistress Porter's instructions, and even if she had, she would never have said a word, as she had no wish to attract any additional attention, much less to incur her father's anger. A time might soon come when she would need to have his favour, which could easily be the only thing standing between her and utter disgrace. He had shown her more kindness of late, and she hoped that, if she could continue to win his approval, gradually reminding him, by her presence and by her agreeable behaviour, how much he loved his pearl, there might be a chance that, should she be unable to conceal her condition, he would stand by her and help her and her baby rather than washing his hands of them both.

She was well aware of the fact that her father was a proud man and he would resent anything he felt set him at a disadvantage in the eyes of his subjects or his fellow monarchs. He certainly wouldn't be happy to have his first grandchild born under such circumstances but maybe she could hope that his love and concern for her would outweigh his anger over her pregnancy.

Even if he was unwilling to send for Charles so that they could be married – or so angry that she would warn Charles not to return to England, for fear that he would be arrested as soon as his ship docked and committed straight to the Tower, to be tried and executed for dishonouring a daughter of the King – there was still a chance that he would find her another husband, one who would be willing to pretend that her child was his so that he or she would have a name, at least.

In any case, her time at Hatfield had accustomed her to injuries to her pride.

When she was first told that her father had ordered that her household at Ludlow Castle was to be disbanded and that she was to live at Hatfield as a member of her young half-sister's household, she had not believed it. She had anticipated that she would have to leave Ludlow Castle if Anne bore a son, as her father would not want to allow her to continue to reside at the residence associated with the Prince of Wales, for fear that some of the people might take this as evidence that she was still his first choice as heir but she did not want to believe that her father would ever be willing to order that she should endure such humiliation, especially for the sake of another girl.

When she first heard the news, she was amused to learn that she had a new half-sister, amused to think that, after her father's efforts to rid himself of her mother and his willingness to see Mary branded a bastard, all he obtained by his efforts was another daughter. Little did she realize what Elizabeth's birth would mean for her, that her father would punish her for the disappointment he suffered when his new wife bore a girl instead of the boy he wanted, knowing that Mary did not want him to have a son by Anne and that she would have prayed that he would be disappointed.

For all Anne's confidence that she would bear a son, as the soothsayers had predicted and as she had hoped, her child was a girl and, given the choice between a daughter nearing womanhood, one who was the granddaughter of the great monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabella, and who was beloved by the people, who willingly accepted her as their Princess and future Queen, and a daughter who was just a baby, and the child of a commoner the people of England plainly did not want as their Queen, Mary was hopeful that her father would choose her.

Before they were told that Anne had borne Elizabeth in place of the confidently expected and eagerly anticipated Prince, Lady Salisbury warned her that, if Anne's child was a boy, the King was sure to view this as proof that he was right to annul his marriage to Mary's mother, and that it would mean that he would never entertain the idea of sending Anne away so that he could reinstate Mary and her mother. She also warned her that it was very possible that many of the people would come to share his view, accepting his reasoning that, since God had withheld the blessing of a son from Mary's mother yet blessed Anne with a son, He viewed the latter as the King's true wife, and that they would therefore transfer their loyalty to Anne's son.

Mary reluctantly accepted that this might be the case but she had not anticipated that, when Anne gave her father a daughter rather than a son, he would choose Elizabeth over her.

She was so sure that he still loved and cared for her and that he would not willingly set out to deprive her of her rights as Princess in order to set his new daughter in her place. A son would be another matter; he had already tried to advance his bastard son, the Duke of Richmond, as heir to the throne ahead of her before the little boy died and she believed that his fears for the fate of the country if he could not leave a son to rule after him were genuine but she had not allowed herself to anticipate that he would favour baby Elizabeth as his heir ahead of her, the pearl of his world.

If he had no choice but to have a daughter as his heir, he would surely want Mary.

How wrong she was!

Chapuys related that Anne was distressed to have borne a daughter – which was understandable, as her future depended on her bearing the King the heir he wanted – and he viewed it as proof that God had abandoned her but, if God had abandoned Anne, the King did not seem to have entertained the idea. A second girl might have been a disappointment for him but he had still ensured that Elizabeth had a magnificent christening, a more splendid one than Mary had had, that she was proclaimed Princess of England and that her place as his heir, pending the birth of a son, was enshrined in law, with those who refused to accept her as such punished. Her household at Hatfield was far larger than the nursery household supplied for Mary when she was a baby, and in order to bolster the position of his new daughter, he was prepared to make Mary her servant, intending to send a message to her, to her mother and to the people that she was just a bastard.

She wanted to believe that Anne was the one who encouraged her father to do it but she couldn't make herself believe it and she couldn't absolve her father of responsibility, not entirely.

Even if Anne requested it, her father should have refused.

At Hatfield, she was obliged to obey Lady Bryan. As offended as she was that she, the Princess of Wales, should have to act as a servant, answering to a knight's wife – and a kinswoman of Anne's, to add insult to injury – her mother insisted that she should obey her father in all things, except when obeying him would mean going against her conscience, telling her that it was her duty to be obedient to him both as her father and her sovereign. She hated having to act as a servant and even hated baby Elizabeth, whose birth put her in this position and whose mother had caused Mary's mother such pain, but she couldn't deny that her father was entitled to decree that she should live in Elizabeth's household and to order her to serve her baby sister, if that was his wish.

She had served a hard apprenticeship at Hatfield, one that helped prepare her for Anne's service.

At Ludlow Castle, she was Princess of Wales, even if her father had never formally bestowed the title on her, and she was accorded all of the honours due to her royal rank.

The Welsh people were delighted to have her among them, proud that the future Queen of England was going to learn of government by ruling the principality, once she was old enough for her role to be more than a nominal one and could begin to give directions to the Council that governed Wales on her behalf. She missed her mother but she had Lady Salisbury with her, and her governess cared for her devotedly and loved her almost as much as her mother did. Her household, from the highborn officers to the lowest of the servants who cleaned the castle and laundered her clothes and cooked the meals for the three hundred inhabitants of the castle, along with any guests, were loyal to her and served her diligently.

Many of the members of her household wept when they were told that the establishment was to be disbanded, and their Princess sent away and, although few had dared to protest when, several months earlier, they were told that they must not refer to their mistress by the title of Princess, as the Archbishop of Canterbury had declared that she was illegitimate and it was the King's wish and command that she should be known to all as Lady Mary, she was certain that they were indignant on her behalf, angry and dismayed that the King could treat her thus.

At Hatfield, she was not only a servant, she was treated worse than any of the other maids who attended Elizabeth. Her chamber was the smallest and most dismal in the manor, she was certain of that, and it was plain that Lady Bryan was not happy to have to deal with her, knowing that she could expect trouble from the King's disinherited eldest daughter, who was distressed by her father's decision to downgrade her and who did her utmost to make it clear to all that she did not accept her demotion or her illegitimate status, whatever her father might say or do.

Her servants at Ludlow might have addressed her as Princess from time to time, when they were confident that they would not be overheard and reported for defying the King's express commands, but nobody at Hatfield would use the forbidden title, even when Mary demanded it. To them, she was the Lady Mary, the King's disobedient and ungrateful bastard daughter, while baby Elizabeth was the Princess. Most of them did not seem to give a thought to how distressing her demotion, as well as her estrangement from her father was for her, and even those who were aware of her feelings seemed to think that she had only herself to blame, as she could secure a return to favour in exchange for her cooperation, not recognizing that she _couldn't_ do that.

She wondered if any of those who scorned her for defying her father, despite the consequences, and who had no sympathy for her plight would have been as quick to repudiate _their_ mothers.

If she had been able to write letters to her mother, and to receive letters from her, Hatfield might have been more bearable but that was forbidden.

All she had to sustain her was her hope that her ordeal at Hatfield would not last, that her father would come to his senses and send Anne away, declaring that she was not and could never have been his wife because he was already married to Mary's mother, the finest wife a man could ever have, and that Elizabeth was therefore a bastard while Mary, his pearl, was the true Princess.

How many hours had she spent on her knees praying for that day, a day that never arrived?

She would never have been able to bring herself to believe that her father would leave her to languish in Elizabeth's service for two and a half years, that he would refuse to allow her to see her mother, even when her mother lay dying, that he would be willing to condemn her for a crime without even taking the time to meet with her in person so that he could ask her if she was involved, to give her a chance to deny it and persuade him of her innocence, and banish her to the More, just as she would never have believed that, when her father finally deigned to allow her to return to court, he would oblige her to serve as a lady-in-waiting in Anne's household, one of the few fates that she would have deemed worse than life in Elizabeth's service.

Had she known, she would not have been able to guard against despair.

She felt her stomach churn as she watched a small procession of servers enter the room, laden with trays of food, which were set up on the side table. The table by the fire was already laid for two, awaiting Anne and her father. The smell of the food made her nauseous and it was only by taking slow, deep breaths that she was able to keep herself from vomiting.

Ordinarily, if she felt unwell, she would absent herself from her duties in Anne's household, asking Kitty or one of the others to let Anne know why she wasn't there, if she asked. She knew that some of the ladies, like Nan Saville, didn't believe her claims of illness – or at least did not believe that she was ill as often as she claimed to be – but she also knew that they would dare to suggest that she was lying. She was still the King's daughter. However, under the present circumstances, she deemed it best to keep working as long as she could, even if she felt sick.

Once her condition advanced to the point where she could no longer conceal it, she would have to withdraw from the court as much as possible, pleading illness and trying to balance seeming to be ill enough to ensure that she would not be suspected of shamming and commanded to return to her duties yet not seeming so ill that her father would insist that a physician examine her. She would have a better chance of avoiding Dr Linacre if she did not give Anne or her father cause to think that her illness had persisted too long and was serious enough to endanger her life.

Even the strife of the past would not keep them from sending a doctor to her if they thought that she was seriously ill, and the last thing Mary wanted was to be examined.

So far, even Joan had not commented on the fact that she was ill so frequently in the mornings, and did not seem to have noticed that her laces could not be drawn as tight as they once had but Dr Linacre was no fool, he was a well-trained physician who would be able to put two and two together and recognize her pregnancy as soon as he examined her, so she had to avoid that.

If she was lucky, concern over Anne's condition would lead others to forget about her.

* * *

**_18th September 1541_ **

"You'll never guess what has happened, my lady!" Kitty's face was aglow with joy and she was practically bouncing as she skipped over to Mary's side, smiling beatifically.

"What is it?" Mary asked, trying to return Kitty's smile, as though she was as carefree as the younger girl instead of burdened with cares. Despite having every intention to report for duty in Anne's household every morning without fail as long as her belly was still flat enough to allow her condition to go undetected, she had been far too sick to contemplate attending her stepmother today, not when she feared that there was a very real risk that she would not be able to keep herself from vomiting in front of Anne, and when she felt dizzy enough to be afraid that she might faint if she had to go about her duties. She felt better now, as she always did in the afternoons, but she was worried about how long her sickness was persisting, afraid that it was not just ordinary sickness but that something might be wrong with her, or with the child in her womb.

Much as she would have liked to, she could not quiz Mistress Porter directly on the subject.

She was still unmarried, as far as most matrons were concerned, it would not be fitting for the maiden they believed her to be to be told too much about the trials of pregnancy and the risks of childbirth, for fear that she would be frightened so badly that she would be left in terror of the prospect of doing her duty by her husband – if her father ever allowed her to marry – and bearing his heirs. Even if she asked questions of Mistress Porter or of Anne's married ladies-in-waiting, she knew that they would fob her off with vague responses and reassurances that carrying a child wasn't as difficult or as dangerous as she believed, giving her no useful information, as though she was a child who might have nightmares if the stories they related were too gruesome for her.

However, if she could not use her tongue to ask questions, she could use her eyes and her ears, to watch how Anne, who was about as far along in her pregnancy as she was, was faring so that she might have a point of comparison, and to listen to everything the midwife said about her, when she and the lady she was speaking to did not realize that Mary was listening avidly to their every word, eager to hear anything she said about Anne's symptoms and what they could expect.

Anne started out by being sick every morning, often so sick that the King would insist that she should stay in bed until her sickness subsided, eating her breakfast in bed and only rising when she was sure that she could keep it down, and then being well enough to go about most of her usual activities in the afternoon and evening, even able to attend all of the celebrations in honour of Elizabeth's birthday last week, but it was rare for her to be sick at this stage, and Mistress Porter seemed to believe that this was normal… so why was Mary still so sick?

She knew that it would distress her mother if she knew that her daughter had conceived a child outside wedlock, both because she was worried about the damage that such a sin would do to Mary's soul and because she would be upset to think of her grandchild being born burdened by the handicap of bastardy but Mary still wished that she could confide in her about this.

Her mother would forgive her, she was sure of it, as she loved her too much to ever turn her back on her daughter, and her mother also knew what it was like to have a difficult pregnancy, as she had conceived seven times but was only blessed with one surviving child. Mary would have given almost anything to be able to speak to her mother now, to ask if she too had suffered the same symptoms and to find out if this was a sign that she too would have trouble bearing living children, a sign that her baby was already struggling to cling to life, a thought that frightened her badly.

She was realistic enough to know that it would be easier for her to conceal a miscarriage or even a stillbirth than to decide what to do about a living child but she did not want her baby to die.

This baby was _hers_ , and she wanted to be able to love him or her, even if it meant trouble for her.

Kitty had not related her news yet and, when Mary glanced at the other girl, she could see that the usually good-natured Kitty was looking rather irritated with her.

"You have to _guess_." Kitty insisted, hugging herself and bouncing from one foot to the next, as though the effort of keeping her secret was too much for her.

"Have you had a letter from your brother?" Mary asked, seizing her opportunity to speak of him. Charles didn't write to her, and she could understand why he did not, but she knew that he wrote to his sister from time to time – not that it ever occurred to Kitty to tell her about it, even though they were friends, so that Mary only learned of the existence of a letter if Kitty mentioned it in passing, usually weeks after it had arrived. Even if Joan was not completely opposed to the idea of helping her send secret messages, something she had made clear from the day she first began to serve her, she knew better than to think that she would be able to send a letter to Charles undetected but she still wanted to hear that he was well and happy in Padua.

Lady Salisbury's son, Reginald, had attended the university there and found it excellent, so she hoped that, even if Charles was not the scholar that Reginald was, he would still enjoy his studies.

"No… I mean, yes, I got a letter earlier this week – Charlie asked me to tell you that he hopes you are well, by the way," Kitty added carelessly, far more interested in the news she wanted to share with Mary than in the letter her brother sent her from Padua. "But that's not the news."

"Then what is it that you want to tell me?" Mary asked, disappointed that Kitty wouldn't say more about Charles of her own volition and knowing that she could not press her on the subject, as even Kitty might wonder why she was so interested, and remember if Mary's pregnancy was discovered, and concealing her feelings with smile, in case Kitty noticed and asked what was wrong.

For a moment, Kitty looked as though she was torn between insisting that Mary should keep guessing before she told her and wanting to be able to share her news. The latter option won, and her eyes shone as she spoke. "Thomas has asked me to marry him!" She declared gleefully, giddy with excitement and delight. This morning, when he and I were out walking." She was almost dancing on the spot. "Even my Uncle Norfolk will have to agree that it's a good match, so he's not going to try to stop us, I'm sure of that, and Thomas says that his parents will be glad."

"That's wonderful news." Mary said, feeling genuinely happy for Kitty but, at the same time, wondering if Culpepper's belief that his parents would be glad about the match might be overconfident. Like all parents of the nobility and the gentry, the question of who their son would marry would be one of paramount importance to them and, while the fact that Kitty was Anne's cousin might work to their advantage, and while Anne was certain to supply her with a dowry, the Culpeppers might be hoping for an heiress for their son, and think that he could do better. "I hope that you and Master Culpepper will be very happy together." She said sincerely. She knew from observing them that they loved one another, and would be happy together, given the chance.

"Thank you, my lady." Kitty beamed at her.

"Has he spoken to the Queen, to ask permission to marry you? And to the King?" Mary asked, as casually as she could.

As Kitty's parents were both dead, Culpepper would need to approach either the Duke of Norfolk, in his capacity as head of the Howard family, or else Anne, who was responsible for the unmarried girls in her service, for permission and there was no doubt in her mind that it would be better for the couple if they approached Anne first. The Duke of Norfolk was unlikely to refuse such a match, as it was about as good a match as Kitty could hope for, even with his patronage and that of Anne, and once she was married he would be able to wash his hands of her and assure himself that he had done his duty by his dead brother's child by seeing her safely settled with a good husband.

However, he would not be as generous with them as the King, at Anne's urging, could be, as he was not a generous man and was likely to insist that Kitty could expect no more from him than his help in finding her a place in her cousin's household, but the Culpeppers might need to see that their son would benefit from the marriage if they were to be persuaded to give it their blessing.

"Not yet – he said something about speaking to Uncle Norfolk first, but he hasn't said anything to him yet." Kitty said, her brow furrowing in a frown. "Do you think that we should speak to the Queen first, my lady?" She asked, thinking that Mary must know more about the proper way to do this than she did. She was not married yet but she had still grown up at court, and the Princess Dowager of Wales must have been involved in arranging marriages for her ladies-in-waiting when she was thought to be the Queen, so Mary would know what was best. She didn't want to do anything wrong, and she was very frightened that her secret about Dereham might be discovered. "My uncle brought me to court, so we thought that we were supposed to ask him first."

"I think that the Queen would like it if you spoke to her first." Mary said steadily, inwardly both impressed and dismayed that she was now able to refer to Anne as Queen without flinching or giving some other sign that she did not truly view Anne as having a right to her mother's title. "She's fond of you, so I'm sure that she'll be very happy to hear your news."

"Oh." Kitty considered Mary's words before smiling, evidently pleased by the idea of the cousin she idolized being the first member of her family who was told the news, rather than the uncle she could never feel at ease around. "You're right, my lady, I should tell the Queen first. There's Thomas – Thomas!" She called his name, bobbing a quick curtsey to Mary before hastening to the side of the young man that she hoped she would soon be able to call husband, threading her arm through his and speaking to him in whispers, telling him what Mary had said.

Mary watched them heading back towards the palace, knowing that they were going to Anne and hoping that it would all go well for them.

Even if her life was in turmoil, and her future uncertain, she wanted to see Kitty and Culpepper be happy together, without their happiness being spoiled by the ambition of their families.

They deserved to be happy.

* * *

"I think that I can see a bit of a bump, sweetheart." Henry said playfully, reaching out to cup Anne's belly with one hand, stroking it gently with his thumb. It was far too soon for him to be able to feel the baby kick, or even for Anne to feel it quicken but he was sure that he wasn't just teasing his wife when he told her that he could feel a bump. There was definitely something there.

His son or his daughter, a new prince or princess for England.

Anne stuck out her tongue, giggling when Henry pulled her onto his lap – gently, so as not to take any chance of hurting her or the baby. Mistress Porter had absolutely forbidden her to wear a corset or stomacher, warning her that she could not expect her baby to grow strong if she insisted on constricting the space he or she needed to grow, and had even commanded Madge Shelton to go through Anne's wardrobe with her, so that she might choose the loose gowns she approved of. Any new gowns Anne ordered would also have to be loose, to accommodate the baby.

While it was a relief not to be tightly laced into her gowns, her stomach flattened and her waist cinched as tightly as possible, the loose gown she was wearing now did nothing to conceal the changes to her figure, so it was no surprise that Henry could see that she was showing already. The fact that Mistress Porter insisted on her eating large meals to feed her growing child, whether she was hungry or not, also meant that she was putting on a bit more weight than she had with Elizabeth or Harry or with the baby she lost seven years ago.

By the time this baby was born, it would take her months to regain her old, slim figure!

"You look absolutely beautiful, my love." Henry assured her, as though he could read her mind. "Besides," he touched his somewhat expanded waistline with his own hand, grinning wryly. "I'm putting on weight myself, and I don't have your excuse for it."

Although his tone was teasing, and although he was glad to see Anne smile at his jest at his own expense, he sternly reminded himself that he was going to have to spend less time eating and more time exercising from now on, however difficult it was to drag himself away from Anne during the day. When Elizabeth and Harry next came to court, he wanted to be able to take them riding without becoming too tired from the exertion, just as he wanted to be able to take the baby Anne was carrying riding when he or she was old enough for their first pony, and to swing it up into the air and give it piggy-back rides without becoming out of breath lifting a small child.

He was past forty now, and other men his age were grandfathers by now, but he was determined to stay young enough to be able to play with his coming child, instead of being like his father, who behaved like an old man long before he was old in years and who would never have dreamed of coming to the royal nursery to play with his children, even when they were small and had not yet become so overawed by their father that they would not greet his arrival with delight. This child would have an affectionate and playful father, a father they could adore without ever being intimidated by him, the kind of father he strove to be to Elizabeth and Harry... the kind of father he once strove to be for Mary, years ago when his eldest daughter was still a little girl.

"How is Mary faring in your household these days, sweetheart?" He asked, his thoughts of Mary making him curious about what she was doing these days. "Is she still missing so many days?" In deference to Anne's wishes, he had not taken Mary to task over the number of days she missed, claiming illness, but he would be lying if he said that it did not make him impatient with her.

"No." Anne answered at once. "She reports for duty nearly every day – and I saw her on one of the days she missed, she really did look like she wasn't well. She's been very well-behaved, never complaining about anything and she and Kitty seem to have become friends." She said, hoping that her praise of Mary would be enough to lead Henry to remove his daughter from her household. No matter how well Mary behaved and how cooperative she was, Anne found the situation uncomfortable and there was no doubt in her mind that Mary felt the same way.

She no longer viewed Mary as a threat... in fact, in recent months, after observing Mary's kindness towards little Edward Fitzroy and the way that she seemed to be genuinely interested in her pregnancy and relieved when she was no longer as sick in the mornings, she couldn't help but wonder if Brereton might have exaggerated Mary's involvement in the poisoning... and, considering that her stepdaughter had spent almost two years in her service without causing any trouble, if they couldn't trust her now, they would never be able to trust her.

"I'm very glad to hear it, sweetheart." Henry said, smiling and feeling relieved to hear that Mary was behaving so well. If she had truly learned to accept her place in the world and could now recognize that Anne was her Queen, then maybe the time had come to soften his treatment of his eldest daughter. There were countless young women of noble birth who would be only too glad to take Mary's place in Anne's household, honoured to have the chance to serve their Queen, but a King's daughter deserved more, at least if that daughter was obedient and loyal. "How would you feel about us reconsidering Mary's place at court, once the baby is born?" He asked. "She's served you well for nearly two years now, so maybe it's time for her to enjoy a more honoured place."

He didn't want to disrupt Anne's household before the baby was born, as she would need to have as quiet and peaceful a time as possible during her pregnancy so that their child would continue to grow healthy and strong but once Anne was safely delivered, he could make arrangements for Mary to move to a larger and more comfortable apartment, assigning her more servants to tend to her needs. He could imagine how delighted his daughter would be when he told her that he no longer wished for her to act as a lady-in-waiting to Anne and that, instead, she would preside over her own little household, enjoying the comforts and honours he had intended that Mary should enjoy when he first annulled his marriage to Katherine, before Mary proved to be so difficult.

That was in the past now. Mary had repented of her obstinacy and he could forgive her.

"I think that it's a wonderful idea." Anne said, her tone sincere. "I'm sure that she'll be delighted."

"I know that she will." Henry said, the mere thought of Mary's pleasure and gratitude when he told her of the change in her circumstances making him smile. Few daughters could have a father as loving as he was, he was sure of that, a father who was willing to forgive disobedience, disloyalty and even an attempt to harm the person closest to his heart when he knew that she repented. "The next time we speak with the Cleves ambassador, we might even be able to resurrect the idea of a betrothal between Mary and the Duke," he added, "or, if he's promised, I believe he has a cousin who is close in age to Mary. He might be suitable."

Katherine had wanted a Spanish match for Mary, complaining when he betrothed their daughter to the Dauphin of France, and complaining even more when Mary was betrothed to the Duke of Orleans, who did not have the saving grace of being his father's heir to compensate for the fact that he was a member of the Valois family, whom Katherine viewed as her family's enemies, but Katherine was gone now and, even if she was not, it was for him to choose Mary's husband, and he was hopeful that he would be able to make a more splendid match for her than the natural daughter of any other monarch in Christendom could expect to make.

He would ensure that Mary would have no reason to complain of his choice of a husband for her.

She would be the next lady at court after Anne and their daughter – daughters, if the new baby was a girl – and all of the courtiers would treat her with the honours she was due as his daughter.

His happy musings were interrupted by a knock on the door, and he could hear it creak slightly as one of Anne's ladies went to open it to admit the visitor, approaching them a moment later and dropping a deep curtsey. "Master Culpepper and Mistress Howard are here, Your Majesties, and have asked if they may speak to you." She said.

Anne rose, not wanting to be sitting on Henry's lap when Kitty and Culpepper were ushered in, in case they felt embarrassed for interrupting them. As soon as she had taken her seat on the couch by his side, Henry motioned for the lady-in-waiting to admit the couple. She watched them make their bow and curtsey and a smile slowly spread across her lips when she saw that, once they rose from their obeisance, Culpepper took Kitty's hand in his, without seeming to realize it.

"What can we do for you?" Henry asked, in too good a humour to be annoyed at the interruption, even if he preferred that he and Anne should be left in peace when they were alone together.

"Your Majesty, I..." Culpepper's voice cracked and he swallowed audibly, his nervousness plain.

"What is it, Tom?" Henry asked encouragingly. He liked the young man, who was one of his favourite grooms, and if Culpepper had come on the errand he suspected he had come on, he would be only too happy to be able to accommodate him, and he suspected that Anne felt the same way. "I'm not going to bite you, you know." He teased.

"Yes, Your Majesty... I mean, no, Your Majesty." The flustered Culpepper said, his face reddening. He squeezed Kitty's hand lightly, as though her touch gave him courage, and he spoke more steadily. "I have asked Mistress Howard to marry me, Your Majesties, and we would like to ask for your blessing, if it pleases you." He said, his posture relaxing ever so slightly once he had finished voicing his request, although his tension was still palpable as he awaited their response.

Kitty was not as tense as he was but she didn't take her eyes off the King. She had no doubt that her cousin would give her blessing for the asking – and it was unlikely to come as a complete surprise to Anne that Kitty loved Culpepper, she saw them together too often for that – but it was on the King that her hopes rested. Not only did he have the power to grant or withhold a blessing that would mean that nobody, from the Culpeppers to her uncle, would dare to breathe a word against the match, he would also ensure that Dereham would never trouble her.

He was not devoid of courage, something she usually admired and that had once caused her to love him... or believe that she did... but even he was not so brave, or so foolish, that he would try to lay claim to her on the strength of the games they played years ago once she was safely married to another man, in a union blessed by the King and Queen of England.

She would be able to forget Dereham, and she thanked God for it.

She would be able to marry the man she truly loved, knowing that she would rather be the wife of Thomas Culpepper than any other man. Even if the King himself was free to ask for her hand, she knew that she would rather be Mistress Culpepper than Queen of England.

The King addressed her next but, although he adopted a mock-gruff tone as he spoke to her, she could see that his eyes were kind, and twinkling with amusement, so she felt no apprehension. "And what of you, Mistress Howard?" He asked her, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Do you want to marry young Culpepper here?" She nodded eagerly. "Are you sure?" He teased.

"Yes, Your Majesty, more than anything!" She insisted, her vehemence making the King's smile widen and the Queen cover a small laugh. Culpepper's smile was the widest she had ever seen and she wasn't sorry that he was there to here her speak her feelings. "I love him."

"Then there's no more to be said, is there?" Henry asked briskly. "You have my blessing and my best wishes for your future happiness together. Do they have yours too, my Queen?" He asked Anne, although he already knew her answer. It was plain that she was delighted for her young cousin, and even though Kitty and Culpepper would be able to marry on the strength of his blessing even if Anne objected, he suspected that for Kitty, Anne's blessing was the one that truly mattered to her, the one that would make her happiest, and Anne would never withhold it.

"Of course you have my blessing." Anne told them, happy and relieved for Kitty. She had no regrets about granting Kitty a place in her household when her uncle asked it of her, as her cousin was eager to please and had never given her cause to wish that she had said 'no' to her uncle's request, but she was not unaware of the penurious state of her Uncle Edmund's children, who had inherited nothing from their father but a legacy of debts. Under ordinary circumstances, even the Howard name and Kitty's own prettiness and charm would not be enough to secure her a worthy match and even her patronage could only do so much. If Kitty and Culpepper could be happy together, how could she ever begrudge them that happiness, much less seek to thwart it?

"Thank you, Your Majesties." It was clear that Kitty was doing her best to behave soberly, as befitted one who would pass from maiden to matron in the near future, but although her tone was grave and her curtsey stiffly correct, she could not hide the vitality that was so much a part of her nature, and it exuded from her in the same way that a flame cast out light and heat.

"Thank you, Your Majesties." Culpepper echoed Kitty's thanks and stood, holding his fiancée's hand, waiting to be dismissed. He could not leave the presence of his King without permission.

"Of you go, you two." Henry ordered them genially. "You have a wedding to plan – and you can take it from me that there's a great deal of work involved in that." He chuckled good-naturedly but he could see the bitter side to his own joke and, once the young couple had taken their leave, he turned to Anne with a wry smile. "It's so easy for them, isn't it? He asked her, she said 'yes' and then they came to us and we gave them our blessing for the asking. Why couldn't it have been as easy for us?" While he had been quite a bit older than Culpepper when he first saw Anne, when he first knew that she was the only woman in the world with whom he could be truly happy, Anne was only a couple of years' Kitty's senior, yet they had to wait years to be married.

Even when they were finally able to be married, they were obliged to do so in secret, knowing that if the Bishop of Rome knew of the wedding ceremony that was conducted in the dead of night in a quiet corner of Whitehall Palace, there was no way that he would ever be persuaded to send the bull that would confirm Cranmer's appointment as Archbishop of Canterbury, the appointment that had allowed Cranmer to rule, once and for all, that Katherine's claim to be his wife and the Queen of England was utterly without merit and that Henry had only one true wife: Anne.

If Katherine could have seen reason, if Warham could have died just a few months earlier so that his Great Matter could be sorted out before Elizabeth was conceived, necessitating a hurried ceremony lest their coming child should be called a bastard, then maybe they could have had a wedding in Westminster Abbey, as he hoped when he first asked Anne to be his wife, a magnificent ceremony and even more spectacular celebrations that would put the festivities in honour of his so-called marriage to Katherine in the shade. With hindsight, he felt that it was hardly surprising that some of the people had trouble recognizing Anne as his wife when they were never able to witness the wedding or the celebrations marking it, as they had with Katherine, but the only reason he was prevented from giving his people a show that would leave them in no doubt as to Anne's place in his life was Katherine's obstinate refusal to accept the truth.

If she had seen sense in the beginning, when he first went to her and told her why their marriage must be considered invalid and dissolved as soon as possible, instead of betraying him by sneaking letters to her damned nephew behind his back, encouraging the Emperor to use his clout in order to try to cheat Henry of justice and his chance to be happy with the woman he loved, it would have been so much easier for all concerned, as Katherine must have known when she first decided that she was going to do everything she could to cling to her pretended title.

He would not have had to banish Katherine from court, or forbid her to see Mary, it would not have been necessary to pass the Act of Succession to clarify the issues of Katherine and Mary's false claims or to execute those who believed Katherine's lies, and he would have been able to be relaxed and happy with Anne, instead of so worried and so angry that he vented his feelings on Anne, even though it was no fault of hers that Katherine was so determined to mar their happiness together for the sake of her stubborn pride and her refusal to accept the truth.

Katherine had claimed to love him but that had not stopped her doing everything in her power to keep him from being happy with Anne, when she knew well that Anne was the one he wanted.

It wasn't fair.

"You know why it couldn't be as easy for us." Anne pointed out gently, her slim fingers wrapping around his as she held his hand in hers. "But we're happy now – happier than most couples ever have a chance of being, I think," she added, thinking that, now that they had overcome their past difficulties, their relationship was stronger than it would have been if their love was never tested. "And that's what really matters, isn't it?"

"It is." Henry agreed, leaning towards her for a kiss and marvelling at her ability to put everything into perspective. She was right that it was their happiness now that mattered, not the means by which it had been delayed in the past.

Katherine may have believed that the power of her nephew would ensure that she got her way but Katherine was dead now, and she had died knowing that, despite her obstinate refusal to accept that she was not his wife, despite her conviction that she would be reinstated as Queen if she clung to her lies long enough, she had lost. He did not come running to her when she lay dying, so that she could manipulate him into saying what she wanted to say in order to comfort a dying woman for whom he once cared a great deal, tricking him into telling her that she was his true wife and into making promises to restore Mary as Princess and as his heir, promises that he might feel honour-bound to keep, even when he knew that it would be wrong to do so.

Katherine was buried as the Princess Dowager of Wales, Arthur's widow, not by her pretended title as Queen of England, and even Mary now accepted the truth.

He was married to Anne now, and would stay married to Anne until the day one of them died, and it was his son by Anne who would succeed him, not Katherine's daughter.

"I love you." Anne told him, and he felt as though his heart was swelling with joy.

"I love you too."

* * *

**_14th October 1541_ **

In a another week or so, perhaps a fortnight if she was able to muster her strength enough to continue to serve Anne that long, Mary was going to send Joan to Anne's apartment bearing a message that she was ill and would not be able to attend her today, and also requesting permission to take her meals in her chamber rather than dining in the Hall with the court. She didn't expect that Anne would cause her any trouble, she had never objected to her absences in the past, or refused to allow her to dine privately in order to force her to eat in the Hall.

With her baby due in the spring, she knew that it would be difficult for her to manage to conceal its existence until then, but she had to try. If there was any way in which she could keep her secret safe from her father and from the court, she would do so, and deal with the problem of what to do with the baby after it was born when she had to.

She wished that Chapuys was still at court.

She did not know the present Imperial ambassador, Mendoza, well enough for her to be able to trust him with something like this, as she had not wanted to approach him, even after she was allowed to return to court, knowing that her interactions with others would be under close scrutiny and that her father would not be happy if he saw that she was establishing a friendship with her cousin's ambassador. He had hated the way that Chapuys always championed her interests and her mother's, urging the Emperor to intercede on behalf of his wronged aunt and cousin and to do everything in his power to see to it that they were restored to their rightful places.

He would not tolerate the same from Mendoza, especially when he had Harry and was determined to protect his son's place as his heir.

Chapuys would have been dismayed if he knew that she had fallen from grace, as he had held a very high opinion of her, so high that he was willing to risk death in order to try to remove Anne and the son she carried as obstacles to her succession, believing that it was absolutely essential for England that she should be its Queen one day, but even if he was disappointed to learn of her condition, he would not have abandoned her. He would have done all he could to help her conceal her condition, perhaps pressing the King to allow her to remove to a country manor so that she might recuperate from her 'illness' – at this point, Mary would welcome a return to the More if it helped her keep her secret – so that she had a better chance of her condition going undetected.

When the baby was born, he would be able to find people who would take it in and raise it, perhaps a nobleman or gentleman who was sympathetic to Mary's cause or who had been loyal to her mother and who would be prepared, for her sake, to offer a home to the baby and see to it that it was brought up properly, even if its royal heritage could never be acknowledged.

If she was unable to keep her condition from her father, Chapuys would be quick to advocate that Charles should be brought back so that he might marry her before the baby was born, allowing the King's first grandchild to be born to a married couple. Even if her father was furious with her and disinclined to do anything that would improve his daughter's lot, Chapuys would brave his anger to remind him that the Emperor would prefer it if they could pretend that the child was conceived in lawful wedlock and would take it amiss if his kinswoman was left shamed before the world.

With Chapuys gone, there was nobody to whom she could confide her condition, much less trust to help her hide her baby once it was born, so that her father never learned of it.

She had not even been able to tell Joan, though that had not stopped her maid from figuring out what was going on, and revealing her knowledge this morning, leaving Mary's head in a whirl.

_Mary sucked in her breath, pulling her stomach muscles as tight and as flat as she possibly could before gasping the word "Tighter!" at Joan, who was lacing the stomacher of her gown. It was fortunate that Mary was skilled with a needle, as that skill had allowed her to loosen her gowns slightly, not so much that anybody would take note of it or put it down to anything other than her having put on a bit of weight but enough to allow her to be more comfortable in her gowns when her waistline first began to expand a little in order to accommodate her growing child._

_Now, however, her first four months of pregnancy were over and the tiny bump was noticeable, although she tried to conceal that from Joan by keeping her back turned to her maid when Joan helped her into her shift, smock and petticoats, and holding the stomacher in front of her while Joan laced it at the back, pulling the strings as tight as they could be pulled before tying them._

_"I can't lace it any tighter than it is already, my Lady Mary – you're too far along for that." Joan stated bluntly._

_Mary was so astounded by this that, for a moment, she could not say a word. She had spent the first months of her pregnancy in terror, knowing that she could not conceal her morning vomiting from Joan and spending each morning feeling nervous, terrified that today would be the day that her maid revealed that she knew of her condition. Joan wasn't the type of servant who would demand a bribe in exchange for her silence on the matter but, even so, Mary had not wanted her to know, even though she knew that, sooner or later, the truth would come out._

_She lived at too close quarters with Joan hope to keep her secret for the full nine months._

_At the back of her mind, she toyed with the idea of reproving Joan sharply for daring to suggest that it was possible that she would do such a thing, brazening it out with denials and hoping that Joan would think that she had been mistaken and would subside, for fear of dismissal if she persisted, but there was no point to that. Even if she could convince Joan now, within a matter of weeks, a month at the most, she would not be able to hide her bump from her maid and then Joan would know that her first suspicions were correct. There was no sense in lying to her now._

_"How long have you known?" She asked in a small voice._

_"I've had my suspicions." Joan said, her brow creased with worry for her mistress. "When you first started to be sick, I didn't think anything of it because you're sick so often, but then you'd seem fine in the afternoons and be sick as a dog again the next morning. Then you never needed cloths for your monthlies," she remarked indelicately, making Mary blush slightly, and curse herself for not thinking to continue to ask for cloths, in order to avoid Joan's suspicions a bit longer. "And over the past month or so, you've put on weight, but you're not eating enough for that." She sighed. "If you'd told me sooner, I could have spoken to a wise woman – there are ways to get rid of it, but you have to catch it very early, before two months, or it's very dangerous."_

_"Oh." Mary said faintly, sickened by the idea of deliberately getting rid of her baby but, at the same time, unable to be certain that she would not have seized the chance to do so, if she had known it was possible when it was still early enough for her to try it._

_"You have to tell your father, my lady." Joan told her, looking concerned. "You're not going to be able to keep it hidden much longer, and it'd be better for the King to hear it from you that from somebody else." She didn't say it aloud but they both knew that there were some at court who were no friends to Mary, and who might enjoy being the ones to expose her shame to her father, eagerly anticipating that he would be furious with his daughter and punish her severely, ensuring that there was no chance that she would ever enjoy his favour again. They might even be rewarded for it, if the King felt that they had spared him the shame of his daughter's condition becoming known by letting him know in time to make arrangements to conceal it._

_"I can't." Mary said, squaring her jaw in determination, unwilling to allow Joan to coax her into going to her father to tell him of her condition. "He's been kinder to me of late," she added wistfully, remembering the way he had smiled at her and called her his pearl. She couldn't bear to lose his affection now that she had finally regained a measure of it. "He'll be so disappointed."_

_"And angry too, I dare say, but he'll be angrier and more disappointed if he has to hear this from somebody else. No father would want to hear news like this from an outsider, my lady."_

_"I don't want my father to hear about this at all." Mary said, inwardly praying that she would be able to manage this. "I don't want anybody to know. I'm going to keep working in the Queen's household as long as I can, maybe another week or two, and then I'm going to tell her that I'm sick and can't continue my duties until I'm better..."_

_"You're planning on telling the Queen that you're too sick to work for **months**?" Joan interrupted sceptically. "You'll never get away with that, my lady!"_

_"Has she ever insisted that I come to her apartment to serve her, or that I see a physician any time that you've gone to tell her that I was too sick to carry out my duties?" Mary challenged._

_"No, my lady," Joan allowed, acknowledging that Anne was always very tolerant when Mary sent her to Anne to plead illness on her behalf. It was true that she never questioned her, but that might change if Mary insisted on going through with this plan. "But that was when you were missing a few days here and there, and then returning to duty. If you want to pretend that you're sick now – not that there'd be much pretence," she added, looking worriedly at her mistress' drawn face, "you'll have to keep up the pretence for at least another four or five months before the baby is born, and what do you plan on doing with it once it comes?"_

_"Foundlings have been left at the palace before." Mary pointed out._

_It was rare, mostly because it was so difficult for anybody to gain access to the palace without being detected by guards but there had been times when infants were found abandoned in the courtyard or in the Chapel Royal or even in a deserted corridor. Considering her own condition, she wondered whether some of those found in the past might have been born to highborn young ladies who, having managed to conceal their pregnancy through various means, needed only to ensure that the infant could not be connected with them in order to be able to take their secret to their grave and move on with their lives. Such children were usually put out to nurse, and, when they were old enough, the boys were placed as apprenticeships and the girls were trained for service._

_She knew that Anne had sponsored at least two foundlings during her time as Queen, and it was likely that her mother had done the same, pitying the abandoned little ones._

_It was not the fate she wanted for her baby but it might be the best she could manage._

_Joan said nothing to that, and Mary didn't want to give her a chance to say more. "Nobody needs to know about this, least of all my father." She insisted. "I can keep this a secret, I know it."_

_"I don't think you can, my lady."_

As she went about her duties, Mary tried to forget Joan's last comment but she couldn't.

She hadn't managed to keep her condition a secret from her maidservant so could she really hope that she would be able to keep it a secret from the rest of the world? Was it inevitable that she would be discovered, sooner or later, and her shame left exposed to an unsympathetic court? Even those who pitied her for the way she was cast out of her father's life for so long, and for the way in which she was robbed of her title as Princess would not be able to condone her current condition. Would her few remaining supporters view this as proof that she was unworthy of the title of Princess and that, all questions of legitimacy aside, her father was wise to disinherit her?

What would her father say about this? Would his anger settle on her head or would he try to convince himself that his daughter was more sinned against than sinning, blaming Charles?

Would Anne, who tried to preside over a virtuous household and who did not want any of her attendants, from her ladies-in-waiting to the grooms of her chamber down to her laundresses to behave in a manner that disgraced her or the royal family, be mortified to think that something like this had happened under her nose, or would she be gleeful at the thought that her rival's daughter had found herself in such a predicament, wishing only that Mary's mother had lived to see her daughter's downfall?

_"I don't think you can, my lady."_

What did Joan know about court life? She had entered Mary's service when Mary was at the More, and she had not served in a royal palace, or even the residence of a high-ranking nobleman before she was engaged to serve Mary. At court, she served Mary and was the only person in her service, spending little time mingling with other palace servants, so she could not know what court was like, or give Mary a realistic assessment of her chances of keeping her secret.

Maybe, if neither of them panicked or did anything that would draw unwanted attention to Mary, she would be able to carry the baby to term without Anne thinking anything was amiss or looking into it when Mary told her that she was too ill to work. Anne had her own pregnancy to deal with and, with a potential Duke of York on the way, every lady in her household would be focused on her, doing everything they could to ensure that she would have a peaceful, easy pregnancy and a safe delivery. They would not bother to give Mary's 'illness' a second thought.

Even the King was likely to be far more concerned with his coming child than with his eldest daughter, as much as it pained Mary to think of her father paying more attention to her younger siblings, especially her younger siblings by Anne, than he did to her. As long as Mary's baby was born before the time came for her to attend the christening of her young half-brother or half-sister – which she could not miss, for fear that her father would view her absence as proof that she did not truly accept Anne's baby as a Prince or Princess of England – she could be safe.

_"I don't think you can, my lady."_

Joan's words reverberated in her head, which was already aching. Her stomach churned in a combination of nausea and fear as she imagined possible scenarios if her father learned of her condition and refused to support her, each possible outcome filling her with dread, for herself and for the baby. What if there really was no hope for them?

Her vision blurred and she recognized the beginning of one of her severe, debilitating headaches, but before she could ask Anne, who was resting on the couch at Mistress Porter's instructions, if she might excuse herself to lie down, the world began to spin around her and she felt herself falling as her vision faded to blackness.

Anne, feeling rather bored today as Henry was at Eltham visiting their children and she couldn't accompany him, for fear that the journey would prove too taxing for her in her condition, was paying little attention to what she was reading and, when she saw her stepdaughter collapse, with only Madge Shelton's quickness in catching her saving her from falling facedown on the floor, she was on her feet in an instant, worried about what might be wrong with her.

"Sit back down, Your Majesty." Mistress Porter instructed her at once, her tone brooking no argument. She waited until Anne had complied before turning her attention to Mary. "By your leave, Your Majesty, we should bring her into the bed." She said, moving to help Madge support Mary's weight and leading the way into the bedchamber before Anne could say anything.

"Of course." Anne agreed at once, standing and following them into her bedchamber, watching as they set Mary gently on her bed and took off her shoes. Mistress Porter frowned at her, clearly displeased to see her standing instead of resting on the couch, as she had instructed her to, but she didn't say anything. "Is she sick?" She asked, taking in Mary's pallor and feeling frightened. If Mary was seriously ill, she needed to send a messenger to Eltham to tell Henry to get back as soon as he possibly could. He would not want to be away if Mary was sick.

"She's fainted, Your Majesty." Mistress Porter, although she was paying less attention to Anne than to Mary, prying open one of her eyes to examine them before feeling her pulse with her wrist and frowning. "Get me a scissors." She told Nan Saville in a brusque voice. "Her stays are so tight that it's a marvel she can draw breath – and clear the room, let her have a bit of air." As was usually the case, the ladies responded to her commanding tone and, once Nan Saville had returned with the requested scissors, they left the room, leaving Mistress Porter and Anne alone with Mary. "I need to cut the laces, Your Majesty," she explained as she carefully cut through them to allow her to remove the stomacher. "The poor girl can't breathe, trussed up like this – it's why I said that you shouldn't wear anything too tight until the baby is born. There!" She said, once she had cut through the laces. "At least now she can draw breath... my God!" She couldn't suppress a gasp.

"What is it?" Anne asked, alarmed by Mistress Porter's reaction, especially since the midwife was usually so unruffled, but before the other woman could say anything, she saw what had prompted her exclamation. On a plumper girl, it might not have been as apparent, and could be put down to nothing more than a little weight gain but, with Mary's slender figure, the swelling of her belly was unmistakable, and there was only one explanation for it. "How did this happen?"

"The usual way, I imagine, Your Majesty." Mistress Porter replied dryly.

When Mary began to stir, she could hear the sound of their voices, but she couldn't make out what it was they were saying but her heart was full of dread when she took a breath and realized that she wasn't constricted by her tight stomacher. She opened her eyes to see two very unwelcome faces looking down at her; the midwife, who was the most likely person in the palace to recognize her condition for what it was, and Anne, the last person she would want to discover her secret. She would have liked to be able to faint again, to slip away, but she remained conscious, unable to seek refuge in blackness and hope that, before she woke up, her world would set itself to rights.

When Anne spoke, her voice was surprisingly gentle. "How far along are you, Mary?"


	37. Chapter Thirty-Six

**_14th October 1541_ **

Why did it have to be Anne, of all people?

If she was not to be allowed to keep her condition a secret, and to ensure that her child would be smuggled into hiding or left as a foundling somewhere within the palace, without anybody learning of its parentage, why couldn't somebody else, somebody sympathetic, be the one to learn of it?

Anybody but Anne.

She wasn't sure what she expected when she looked up from the richly embroidered coverlet to meet Anne's gaze.

Satisfaction, perhaps, at the knowledge that, by bearing a child out of wedlock, Mary had undoubtedly ensured that the few people who continued to uphold her rightful claim to be her father's true, legitimate heiress, refusing to accept Anne's children in her place, would abandon her cause and pledge their support to Harry once they knew of her fall from grace?

Pleasure to think that she would be able to go to Mary's father to tell him that his daughter would make him the grandfather of a bastard next spring, ensuring that any chance Mary had of regaining his love and a proper place within the royal family would evaporate as soon as she spoke the words that would cause her father to look on her with scorn and disgust?

Fear, in case the King took her to task for the lax supervision in her household, accusing her of not taking the proper precautions to guard the chastity of the unmarried ladies who attended her and holding her partially responsible for his daughter's shame?

Anger at Mary, for putting her in that position?

None of those emotions would have surprised her, and she would not have been able to condemn Anne for them.

Even her sainted mother, who had always done her utmost to maintain order and chastity among her ladies, and who was always very considerate of the welfare of her attendants, could not have failed to be distressed and angry if one of the nobly-born young ladies who were honoured with a place in her household was found to be in such a condition. Even if she felt a measure of sympathy towards them for their plight, even if she believed the father to be more to blame, even if she worried about the future of a child born under such circumstances, she would have dismissed them from her service immediately, knowing that she could not condone their sins, or be seen to do so.

As Queen, it was her duty to preside over a virtuous household, and to set an example.

She did not expect to see compassion or concern, but she saw them both in Anne's eyes as she looked at her, repeating her question gently. "How far along are you, Mary?"

Mary knew the answer to Anne's question, as she knew that there was only one possible date of conception, but she couldn't manage to force her tongue to speak the words.

Mistress Porter probed the slight swell of her belly with practiced hands before she answered the question for her. "Between four and five months, I should say, Your Majesty." She reported. Her tone was brisk but her touch was gentle as she examined Mary, frowning at her pallor and at the deep shadows under her eyes. "Are you often sick in the mornings, my lady?" She asked.

Mary nodded mutely. She was relieved that Mistress Porter was speaking to her as respectfully as ever, betraying no hint of the scorn that Mary expected to see from the lords and ladies of the court, when they knew of her condition. She wanted to sit up, feeling uncomfortable to by lying there while the midwife examined her in front of Anne, but she didn't have the strength to pull herself upright. Her limbs felt heavy, as though they were encased in a suit of armour, and she felt as though she wanted nothing more than to rest on the soft, feather mattress of Anne's bed.

She wished that she could close her eyes and pretend that none of this was happening, as she had the first time she learned of her father's intention to end his marriage to her mother.

But there was nothing she could do to make this go away, no matter how much she wanted to.

"Sickness does not usually last much longer." Mistress Porter told her. She felt sorry for the young woman lying before her. While it was foolish for any girl, let alone one of high birth, to bed a man who was not her husband, the Lady Mary was not the first to make that mistake, nor would she be the last. There was little point in taking her to task for it now, when there was no way to change the past. She had the rest of her life to live with the consequences of her actions. "Have you been eating well? Sleeping?" She quizzed her, not needing to hear Mary's answer to know that she had not. The answer was written plainly on the young woman's face.

She had heard that the Lady Mary did not enjoy good health and, looking at her now, she could easily believe this.

The strain of keeping her condition a secret must also have taken its toll. Privately, she was surprised that she had not miscarried the child before now, especially when she considered how many babies Lady Mary's mother had lost over the long years she had spent as Queen of England, always praying for a Prince. Had Lady Mary inherited her mother's difficulties with childbearing, it was not surprising to see that she was having such a hard time with her pregnancy.

She was roughly as far along in her pregnancy as the Queen but, although the Queen was older and had had a very difficult time with her last pregnancy, coming close to losing Prince Harry, she now looked to be in much better health and spirits than the Lady Mary did.

The Queen's colour was better, she had ceased to be sick in the mornings and she was eating and sleeping quite well, even if she sometimes had to be encouraged to finish her meals or take a nap.

"You must take better care of yourself, my lady, for the sake of your child." She admonished. Mary nodded automatically but she didn't seem to be taking in her words.

"Thank you, Mistress Porter." Anne interrupted. "With the Lady Mary's permission, you may examine her later today but she and I need to speak first, alone."

"Yes, Your Majesty." Mistress Porter curtsied before withdrawing, closing the curtain that separated Anne's bedchamber from the rest of her apartment, to give them some privacy.

Anne regarded her stepdaughter in silence for a few minutes, considering the situation and weighing the varying options available to them.

They did not have many options.

At this stage, it was far too late for Mary to be able to rid herself of her child, as a few of the ladies at the French court had, when they were expecting an unwanted baby and preferred to court the risk of aborting their unborn child in order to protect their reputations and positions. Even if it was not too late, Anne had heard stories of how such operations could end in disaster, with the women who resorted to such measures left incapable of bearing children in the future, if they survived themselves, and she did not think that they should take the risk.

In an ideal world, nobody would need to know of Mary's condition, and arrangements could be made to find a suitable, discreet home for the child, even if they were unlikely to be able to find a noble household willing to take him or her in and keep the secret, but they did not have that luxury. She was astounded that Mary had managed to keep her secret for so long.

In another month, there would be no hiding it and Mary could not simply shut herself away from court for months on end while she awaited the birth of her baby.

Sooner or later, others would find out and the story was guaranteed to spread like wildfire.

The idea that the King's daughter carrying an illegitimate child would be too shocking for people to resist the urge to spread the story to others, wanting to share the scandal.

"Who is the father, Mary?" She asked, keeping her tone soft and gentle. Mary was likely to expect the worst from her, and to distrust any overtures of friendship, something Anne could scarcely blame her for, under the circumstances. If she thought that she detected any hint of anger or reproach in Anne's tone, she would refuse to say a word to her. They would get nowhere in that case. "Is he... is there any impediment that would keep him from marrying you?" She asked, praying that the father was free, at least.

If he was, they might have options available to them, and a better chance of a happy resolution – or as happy a resolution as could be expected under the circumstances – than if he was not.

Henry was still tied to Katherine when Elizabeth was conceived but, thankfully, the bull from the Bishop of Rome that confirmed Cranmer's appointment as Archbishop of Canterbury arrived before her condition was past hiding. With his appointment confirmed, Cranmer was able to confirm that Katherine was not his wife and that his marriage to Anne was lawful. Anne was not unaware of the fact that there were more than a few people at court who mocked her for being visibly pregnant when her marriage to Henry was finally announced but she had not allowed that to upset her.

The marriage was solemnized and confirmed as lawful before her child was born. That was what mattered most, and what she was afraid they might not have been able to manage.

Even though Henry assured her that the Bishop of Rome would not refuse to issue the bull, even though he promised that, should the Emperor persuade him to refuse, he would confirm Cranmer's appointment himself, in his capacity as Supreme Head of the Church, and that they would be able to have their marriage declared valid by the Church of England, it was still a huge relief to her to learn of the bull's arrival. It brought them a step closer to ensuring that the precious child in her womb would not be slandered as a bastard, something she was deeply thankful for.

Had something happened to Henry before he could ensure the legality of their marriage, she didn't like to think of the position that she and Elizabeth would now be in.

At best, she would have been banished from court with her child but allowed to retain her title and estates as Marquess of Pembroke, and pass them on to Elizabeth, ensuring that her daughter would be a wealthy noblewoman if she could not be a princess. Perhaps Mary would not want to draw attention to her father's relationship with her, and of his intention to set her mother aside for her sake, by stripping her of her title and estates, preferring to ignore her entirely, or perhaps Katherine would want to show herself to be charitable to her former rival, and would ask her daughter not to deal unkindly with the woman who might have been her stepmother.

At worst, she would have been imprisoned or even executed on some charge or another under the new regime, with her child abandoned to the care of strangers who would teach her to be ashamed of her parentage rather than proud, telling Elizabeth that she was the daughter of a whore who tempted a God-fearing man away from his true wife, and the product of sin.

Even Elizabeth might not have been safe; she could be murdered if it was feared that she might prove to be a threat to her half-sister's reign.

Mary's supporters would not have wanted to allow a young rival to reach adulthood.

Henry was able to resolve their situation, though it had taken a great deal of time and effort on his part, and she hoped that he could do the same for Mary.

Mary did not answer her immediately and, when she finally spoke, her tone was bitter. "An impediment? I suppose that you could say that." She remarked, a deep frown creasing her brow and her mouth twisting into a grimace.

Anne waited for her to elaborate but she did not say another word. Anne suppressed a sigh.

She could not help Mary if Mary would not confide in her but she couldn't allow herself to become impatient. This was difficult enough for Mary already and, if she thought that Anne was being impatient and unfriendly, or if she believed that she might be gloating over her condition, she would be even less inclined to speak up than she was now.

"If you tell me who it is, I might be able to help." She said kindly, hoping that Mary would believe that she was sincere. A scandal would not benefit any of them – though she could imagine that her own father would be gleeful if he learned of this, delighting in Mary's misfortune and in the fact that no man in England would support her if she was mother to a bastard child – and Henry would be hurt if he learned of his daughter's condition. He loved Mary, even if they had had difficulties over the past years, and would not want this for her. No loving father would ever wish a fate like this on his daughter, and Henry would be more dismayed than most, as all of Christendom would know of any scandal that touched his family, and he would hate to be embarrassed before other monarchs. "If I speak to the father, and tell him that I wish him to marry you..."

Mary scowled at Anne's words, wishing that she could spell out the situation to her.

Did Anne truly think that the only reason why she was not already married to her child's father was because he did not want to do the honourable thing, and marry her?

If Charles was here, and if he knew of her condition, she was sure that he would insist that they find a priest to marry them at once. Even if it meant chancing her father's anger by marrying his daughter without his consent, he would insist on it, rather than leaving her in a position where she would be called a whore, or their child in a position where he or she would be reviled as a bastard.

Anne's uncle was the one who prevented that.

He was the one who sent Charles away, thereby preventing any possibility of a marriage, but Mary couldn't entirely condemn him for it.

His actions might have saved Charles' life.

She was sure that, no matter how angry her father was when he learned of her condition, he wouldn't have her executed for it. Her pregnancy might infuriate him, especially if his pride was offended by the thought of a bastard grandchild, but it was not a crime. He saw to that when he declared her illegitimate, which meant that there was no threat to the succession that might be cited as grounds for treason. It would be different if she was still recognized as a princess... but if she was still recognized as a princess, she would not be in this position now.

If she was still recognized as a princess, she would be the wife of a prince or a King by now and the mother to her husband's lawful heirs. Even if she noticed a handsome face at her husband's court and felt an attraction to him, she would never act on it. She would never betray her marriage vows, or risk conceiving a child who would become a cuckoo in her husband's nest.

If Charles was here, he might not escape so lightly.

Depending on how angry the King was, he could find some reason to accuse Charles of a crime, and condemn him, sending him to the scaffold on some pretext or another, punishing him for the embarrassment that an illegitimate grandchild would cause him, even if he could not find an excuse to call him a traitor.

It could be that Charles was safer in Padua, and she could not allow Anne to write to her cousin, asking him to come back to marry her, if he might be coming back to be conducted to the Tower.

Anne might mean well, Mary was prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt in that respect, but her help could do more harm than good.

"I can't tell you." Mary stated firmly. "I won't."

Anne rose from her chair, pacing back and forth for a few moments before sitting down again. She wished that she could know what the best thing to do would be but she didn't know.

Would it be kinder to Henry if she kept this from him?

No, this was not a secret that could be kept, especially when her ladies saw Mary faint.

Even if they had not overheard their conversation with Mistress Porter, even if they moved out of earshot when they were dismissed, as they would have known well was expected of them even if they would rather be close enough to listen, one of them was bound to guess the cause. Even if she swore Mistress Porter and her ladies to secrecy, word was certain to get out. It would hurt Henry more if he learned that she helped deceive him, and if he was hurt, he would become angrier. That anger would hurt Mary and, worse still, the innocent child that Mary was carrying.

There was only one thing that she could do.

"Your father needs to be told, Mary." She told her stepdaughter gently. "This isn't a secret that we can keep from him, and it's better if he doesn't hear about this through court gossip."

Mary nodded, knowing that Anne was right about this.

She wasn't foolish enough to believe that, by confessing to her father, she could ensure that he would take pity on her and promise to aid her in her plight, rather than condemning her, but if she tried to keep a secret, she would compound her wrongs in his eyes. To his eyes, it would be bad enough that she was going to give him a bastard grandchild – something that he would not have objected to if that grandchild was fathered by Harry, in ten or fifteen years time; in fact, he might even be proud at what he would see as proof of his son's virility, happily condoning behaviour in his son that he would condemn in one of his daughters. If she put him in a position where one of his courtiers would be able to come to him to let him know about his coming grandchild, and be privy to his shock and dismay, he would not forgive the injury to his pride.

But the thought of going to her father and confessing her plight was one that sent a shudder rippling through her body and made the blood in her veins freeze with dread.

She badly wanted to regain his love and his good opinion, to be the beloved pearl of his world once more. Now, she was certain that she had destroyed any chance she might have had of a restoration to favour. Even if her father still regarded her as a princess, her pregnancy would cost her place at court and, in all likelihood, her place in the line of succession.

No man in England would want to accept her as his Queen now.

In a way, it was worse than the day she learned of Cranmer's verdict on her parents' marriage, learned that, at her father's command, his marriage to her mother was to be nullified, as though it never happened, and that she was to lose the royal position and honours to which she was born and, instead, to be regarded as nothing but a royal bastard.

She was bitterly hurt by the news but she had her faith, in God and in the love she believed her father still cherished for her, to sustain her. She could believe that, if she was patient, if she refused to take the easy path and renounce her rights, and if she prayed for him, her father would change his mind, repent of his actions and restore her to her rightful place, begging her and her mother to forgive him for his treatment of them. She could blame Anne for bewitching her father and leading him into sin, trusting that when Anne's hold was broken, her world would be set to rights.

Now, she had nothing and nobody to blame but herself and her own choices.

Anne saw her hesitation and spoke gently. "Would you like me to tell your father?" She asked gently. She privately thought that this would be the best thing to do, under the circumstances.

Mary was torn at first.

She felt that she should be the one to speak to her father, that she should show him that she had the courage to face him, and to accept the consequences of her choices, in the hope that, even if he deplored her fall from grace, he would respect her courage, but the thought scared her.

She had experienced her father's anger before, when she refused to accept his decision to annul his marriage to her mother and to rob her of her birthright, and when he thought that she was involved in Brereton's attempt to poison Anne before Harry was born. Even then, she only experienced his anger only at a distance. He never took her to task in person. For the first offence, he commanded that she assume the humiliating role of maid-in-waiting to the infant who supplanted her in order to break her resolve, expecting that she would soon beg to be allowed back into his life, and for the second he banished her to lonely isolation at the More.

Years passed before he was willing to receive her again.

This time, it would be worse because there would be no distance to act as a buffer, shielding her from the worst of his rage. He would not hear of her actions from the lips of another, and have a chance for his rage to cool before he decided how he would deal with her. He would hear it from her, and she would be in front of him when the storm of his anger broke.

God alone knew how he would react, but any fool could guess that he would not greet news like this with any degree of pleasure.

Anne might be the only person who could deliver this news without attracting the King's wrath. No matter how furious he became, he would not forget that Anne was carrying his child, the first child they conceived in five years. For her sake, if for no other reason, he would control his temper when he heard the news, rather than risk distressing her and harming their child.

Mary nodded. "Please tell him." She said quietly.

* * *

Henry sprang to his feet as soon as she was announced, hastening to her side and taking both of her hands in his, worried about the grave expression on her face. "Anne?" He tugged her over to a chair, making her sit down, feeling her hands to see if they were too warm or too cold. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" He asked anxiously. "Are you feeling sick? I'll send for Linacre." He turned, ready to order a groom to run to fetch Dr Linacre but Anne laid a hand on his, shaking her head and giving him a faint smile to reassure him.

"No, Henry, I'm not sick." She assured him at once, inwardly wondering if his relief to learn that she had not come to tell him that there was something wrong with her or their child would make him more inclined to receive her news calmly. It was probably too much to hope for. She took a deep breath before speaking. "I have something to tell you, something that you're not going to be happy about." She warned him, taking his hand and tugging him into the chair next to her.

"What is it?" He asked, puzzled. He couldn't think of anything that could cause Anne such distress, except something connected with the children, and he knew from Lady Bryan's last letter that Elizabeth and Harry were both in excellent health, and progressing well with their studies. Even if something had happened to one of their children, she would not broach the subject thus.

He couldn't imagine what would bring her to him now, with such a worried expression on her face.

"It's Mary," Anne began, knowing that there was no way that she could make this news palatable to her husband and thinking that her best course of action was to just tell him.

Henry's expression darkened. "What has she done?" He asked, feeling furious with his daughter.

He had been pleased with Mary's behaviour of late, impressed by the way she greeted little Edward when he came to court, and happy to see that, when she watched Elizabeth and Harry, she betrayed no sign of wishing to see them harmed or of envying them the royal status that was their birthright, no sign that she secretly believed that their royal titles should be hers.

She had not complained about her position as Anne's lady-in-waiting, nor had she made any attempt to plead with him to allow her to enjoy the title of Princess, and the royal privileges such a status would have afforded her, as he had half-expected she would within a few months of her appointment to Anne's household. She had not attempted to curry favour with him, using his fatherly love to better her lot at court. She had not sent any letters to the Emperor asking him to intercede on her behalf, so that she might be accorded honours that her bastard status did not allow her. She had caused Anne no trouble, and performed her duties as lady-in-waiting in a conscientious manner, behaving modestly and respectfully.

He could see for himself that she was conducting herself as well as he could wish, and better than he had expected she would when he first appointed her to Anne's household.

He had thought that, in the coming months, he could reward her for the way she bravely accepted her illegitimacy, something that he knew was difficult and painful for her, especially when Katherine had convinced her that she was of legitimate birth, wanting Mary to believe that he was the one in the wrong and that she and their daughter were being cheated of their rights, unwilling to accept that the titles they claimed were never theirs in truth. He was already making tentative plans for an apartment and attendants for her, wanting her to have her own little household at court, one befitting her near-royal status. He even knew which rooms would be hers, once they were properly refurbished, a suite overlooking the gardens, with separate rooms for her servants.

He thought that, when his newest child was born and all of England rejoiced in the birth, it would be pleasant to be able to tell his eldest daughter that she was to be welcomed back into the bosom of his family and honoured by all as a King's daughter should be, and that they would be able to put the unhappy past behind them at last, in order to make a new beginning, as a family.

He was furious to think that Mary would cause trouble for Anne now, when she knew that her stepmother's delicate condition meant that she needed rest and care, and to be free from worry. The life and health of their unborn child, perhaps even Anne's life and health, depended on Anne being able to have as untroubled a pregnancy as possible, as Mary knew well.

If his eldest daughter had returned to her old ways, he would have to deal with her immediately.

He would not allow her to do anything to upset Anne, especially now.

"Promise me that you won't be angry."

Henry gave her a faint smile. "I could never be angry with you, sweetheart." He assured her, thinking that she might be about to admit that she had responded to Mary's provocation and returned any insults she made in kind. Such behaviour might be undignified in a Queen but Mary could be trying, and in the past, she proved herself to have a vicious tongue when she chose, even daring to call Anne his mistress to her face and to insist that she was no Queen. He couldn't blame Anne if she was goaded into returning Mary's insults, especially in her condition.

She could not be expected to accept rudeness from anybody, least of all one of her ladies-in-waiting.

"Promise me that you won't be angry _at all_." Anne insisted.

It was futile, she knew that.

There was no father who would be able to receive this news without anger, and no matter what Henry promised, he would not be able to stay calm once she broke the news to him but she hoped that, if he promised, he would at least make an attempt to control his rage, if only for her sake.

"I promise." Henry said, wondering what could lead to Anne being so fearful of his reaction. Surely she knew that there was little she could do that would make him angry with her.

Anne took a deep breath before speaking, keeping hold of his hand. "Mary is with child." She said simply, knowing that there was no pleasant way to break this news to him.

At first, it seemed as though he had not heard her.

His face betrayed no emotion in the first few moments after she spoke but, as the silence dragged on, she could feel the muscles in his hand tighten under her fingers, could feel his fists clench. She winced involuntarily when his hand tightened around her slender fingers and Henry released her but he did not move from his chair. The colour had drained from his face, which looked as cold and as hard as if it had been chiselled from marble. He was facing her but not looking at her, his stare directed at a point behind her as he digested her words.

A long time seemed to pass before he could bring himself to speak, and when he did, his voice was calm but strained.

"Are you certain?" There was no hint of an accusation that she might be leaping to conclusions, believing the worst of Mary because of what happened in the past when there might be an innocent explanation, nor did he seem to hold out hope that this might be the case. He knew her better than to think that she would bring him news like this without being certain.

She would never want him to hear such hurtful news if she did not know that it was true.

"I'm afraid so." His hand trembled slightly, and he tightened his fists at her words. "She fainted, and when Mistress Porter examined her, she could see that she... and Mary confirmed it." She finished softly, hating to be the one to break this news to him but knowing that it was best for him to hear it from her, rather than from a gossiping courtier or his frightened daughter.

"I see." His voice hardened, and his eyes blazed with anger. "Did she tell you who fathered it?" He asked, trying to remember if Mary had spent an unusual amount of time with any of the gentlemen of the court, and to think about which of the men at court would dare to bed their King's daughter. He couldn't imagine who would wish to chance his wrath like that.

Anne shook her head. "She wouldn't tell me."

Henry nodded acknowledgement of her words. "Then she will tell me."

The anger in his voice frightened her. Even when things were bad between them, years ago, and he lost his temper with her, he had never sounded like that when he spoke to her. If she thought that there was any chance that he would agree, she would plead with him to wait before he spoke to Mary but she knew Henry well enough to know that he would not be persuaded to wait.

He wanted to speak to Mary now and he would not be gainsaid.

He rose from his chair, crossing the room swiftly and pulling the door open so violently that it clattered against the panelled wall. "You!" He called to one of the grooms standing outside the door of his Privy chamber, beckoning the man with an impatient gesture. The groom hastened over, bowing deeply. "Go to the Lady Mary at once, and tell her that I command her to attend me without delay." He ordered brusquely, shouting "Now!" when the man did not depart immediately. "And do not return to me carrying excuses on her behalf!" He called to the retreating back.

If Mary dared to send back a message pleading illness, he would go to fetch her himself, even if he had to drag her to his Privy chamber by force.

He returned to the fireplace, and to his chair at her side, stopping only to pour himself a goblet of wine. He drained it in one swallow and refilled it before offering her a drink. Anne declined.

No sooner had he sat down than he was on his feet again, pacing back and forth like a caged lion, casting angry glances at the door, his anger growing more palpable with every minute that passed without Mary arriving. Anne could only pray that her stepdaughter would recognize that she could not afford to delay in responding to the summons, even to make herself presentable.

In Henry's present frame of mind, he was likely to view it as defiance on Mary's part if she stopped to comb her hair or change her gown before presenting herself to him.

To her relief, Mary appeared promptly.

The groom knocked on the door and, when Henry barked at him to enter, he bowed deeply and announced the arrival of the Lady Mary before he bowed a second time, and withdrew.

Anne did not doubt that the man was glad to be away from his obviously angry sovereign.

Mary was outwardly composed as she made her curtsey to them, greeting them respectfully, but Anne could see that her face was pale and that her hands quivered slightly. Her eyes were wide with fear as she rose from her curtsey, venturing to look up at her father, whose glower could have struck terror in the most courageous heart. It was clear from her expression that she could recognize that she would get no sympathy from him but, rather than faltering or bursting into tears and throwing herself on his mercy, in the hope that he would take pity on her, Mary straightened her back and lifted her head to look Henry in the eye, bracing herself for his anger.

"The Queen tells me that you are with child – a _bastard_ child." There was a faint note of challenge in Henry's voice as he spoke the word 'bastard'. Although he would be furious if he learned that his daughter had married in secret, without seeking his permission, he had to admit that, in this situation, it could be preferable to hear Mary tell him of a secret husband. If she did, he could punish the couple with banishment from court for marrying without his permission, perhaps a heavy fine if the man was wealthy, but his grandchild could be called legitimate. "Is this true?"

"It is, Your Majesty." Mary said, keeping her tone calm with great effort. She had to admit that she did not know her father well enough to know whether it would be better for her to give way to the tears she felt welling up within her at the thought of his shame and anger, and at the shame and hurt that her sainted mother would feel if she were alive to know of this, or if she should keep her emotions firmly in check, showing her father that she was no weakling who could not face him with the truth. Her father might soften towards her, even slightly, if she showed him how distressed she was or it might just make him feel angrier towards her, leading him to condemn her for cowardice if she could not face up to the consequences of her actions.

She had had relatively little contact with her father in the past couple of years, and he scarcely ever singled her out to speak with her privately, so she did not know what was in his heart.

"And who got this little bastard on you? Answer me!" Henry barked when she did not speak.

Mary bit her lower lip to keep it from quivering. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Anne watching her, a sympathetic expression on her face, and she saw her nod slightly, encouraging her to speak, but she could not bring herself to speak Charles' name.

To her surprise, her father's expression softened slightly for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was gentler than she expected it to be. "Were you forced, Mary?" He asked quietly. His hand moved slightly, as though he was going to reach out to take her hand in his, but he stopped himself. "Did somebody do this to you against your will?"

If any man dared to harm his daughter in that way, he vowed that he would see the culprit hanged, drawn and quartered for his vile crimes.

Mary knew that, if she said 'yes', it would go easier for her.

Her father's displeasure would still be great, and she imagined that he would suspect that, if a man forced himself on her, she might have tempted him, knowingly or not, but he would be kinder if he believed that she was more sinned against than sinning. She could pretend that it was dark, and that she did not see the face of the man who violated her, so that she would not be asked to accuse an innocent man and see him pay for her lie with his life, and perhaps he would believe it. With her father's help, she might be able to leave court and live quietly in the country until the child was born and could be smuggled away in secret, to be brought up by a suitable family, or perhaps he would find a man to be a husband to her and a father to her child.

It would be easier if she said 'yes' but she shook her head instead.

She would not lie.

"You were _willing_?" Her father sounded aghast, and Mary felt anger rising within her.

Who was he, who had despoiled so many of the maidens of the court, and who even took married women as his mistresses, as the fancy took him, to condemn her?

Who was he who, when he fathered his first bastard son – or at least the first one that he knew of – insisted that the whole court should celebrate the birth with him, though it hurt and humiliated his Queen to know of it, and who had heaped titles on a toddler for no other reason than that he was the product of a King's lust, to condemn her?

Who was he, who willingly turned away from the best and most loving wife a man ever had in order to marry the daughter of one of his subjects, simply because she was not willing to be his mistress, as other pretty girls were before her, to condemn her? Her father was willing to tear England away from the bosom of the Church and the Holy Father in order to have his way, willing to court the anger of his subjects, to execute good men and to disinherit his rightful heir rather than accept that he could not have what he wanted, yet he condemned her for one indiscretion.

She might have sinned with Charles, but at least neither of them was bound to another.

She held her head high as she answered. "I was."

His expression was one of anger, betrayal and hurt, though Mary suspected that her father's pride was suffering more than anything else. She could imagine the thoughts that were going through his mind, knowing that he must be able to guess what people like King Francis and her cousin the Emperor would say if they learned of her condition, and that he would be furious with her for putting him in such a position, counting it as a betrayal on her part.

Anne reached out to take his hand but he ignored her, focusing his attention on Mary.

"I want the name of the father." He told her brusquely. "I want the name of the man who dared to despoil the King's daughter, and to give me a bastard to call me 'Grandfather'." When she did not answer immediately, his expression hardened even more. Mary took an involuntary step back, and inwardly cursed herself for showing weakness. "Silence will not help your cause. I mean to have an answer from you." He warned her. "I will have it, if I have to order you sent to the dungeons of the Tower until you see fit to answer my question. Who is the father?"

"Mary," Anne's voice was surprisingly compassionate when she spoke. "Please tell your father the truth." She met her stepdaughter's eyes, hoping that Mary would understand that, at this point, silence could only harm her. Henry's anger could be dangerous and she feared that, if he was pushed much further, he would carry out his threat to send Mary to a dungeon, and that he would leave her there. Mary was already having a difficult time with her pregnancy. If she was sent to the Hellish confines of the Tower, Anne was certain that she would not be able to carry the child to term, and she might not survive the ordeal of imprisonment herself. "You must tell him."

Mary could see fear in Anne's eyes and knew that the fear was for her, and for her child.

She did not know how far her father would be capable of going if she pushed him but if Anne feared for her, she must believe that he would be prepared to go to drastic lengths.

She wanted to keep her secret, to keep from betraying Charles, but she could not do it if it would mean being sent to the Tower. She would not survive there, she knew it.

Charles was safe, beyond her father's reach.

She was here, with no defence from his anger.

She could not take the risk of exciting his wrath by refusing to give Charles' name.

"Charles Howard." She spoke the name in a low voice, stealing a glance at Anne to see how she would react to the revelation that her cousin had fathered a child by the King's daughter.

Anne looked troubled. "Kitty's brother?" She asked, knowing that her cousin had befriended Mary but half-hoping that another one of the seeming legion of Howard men was responsible for Mary's condition. If there was another Charles Howard at court, he could be prevailed upon to marry Mary immediately, and they could pretend that a private wedding took place months earlier. Her Uncle Edmund's Charles was so far away that it could take weeks, even months to bring him back. When Mary nodded, she sighed, calculating how long it would take to send somebody to bring Charles back to England and how long they would have before Mary's condition became obvious. "It will be difficult, but we should be able to manage something." She offered tentatively.

Henry stared at her as though she had lost her wits. "What are you talking about?"

"If we send a fast messenger to Charles, he can return before the sea gets worse in winter." She explained. "Mary will have to leave the court. We can say that she is ill, and needs to go to the countryside to recuperate. Maybe she could go to Hanworth." She mused aloud, naming one of the royal manors Henry gifted her with during their courtship. She had never visited it, as it was a comfortable residence but too small to house the royal court, but it was newly refurbished before Henry gave it to her and servants were engaged to see to its upkeep, so she was confident that it would be a comfortable residence for Mary, ready whenever she needed it. "When Charles returns, we can find a priest for the wedding. I'm sure that we will have no trouble finding one who will welcome a fat purse, and be willing to earn it by changing the year on the licence. Later, we can announce that Mary and Charles married in secret, but that you have forgiven them."

She did not mention that, if Charles could not return in time, they had the option of finding another man who could marry Mary, and have the date of their marriage altered to predate the child's conception. She was sure that Mary would be happier married to Charles than to a stranger, especially when another man might treat her coldly for bearing a child who was not his, so, as long as that was an option, they should not look elsewhere to find her a husband.

For the first time in a long time, Mary felt a genuine smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

It seemed so simple, the way Anne put it, and if her plan worked, it would solve the worst of Mary's difficulties.

She did not like the idea of bribing a priest to pretend that her wedding day was the first anniversary of her marriage, and at the back of her mind she thought that she should be indignant over Anne's confidence in her ability to find a corrupt servant of God. However, it was a small price to pay to spare her child the taint of bastardy, a taint she had firsthand experience of, though in her case, the name of bastard was wrongly applied to her. She knew that many of the courtiers would doubt that she was married as long as she claimed to be but they would follow her father's lead in this, so if he professed to forgive her and Charles for their secret marriage, and if he was prepared to welcome his grandchild when the baby was born, they would not gainsay him.

For a few blessed moments, she felt a surge of hope that all would be well but that hope was soon dashed.

"No." Henry said, his tone making it clear that his mind was made up.

"Henry?" Anne was puzzled by his refusal. She truly believed that her plan, while not ideal by any stretch of the imagination, represented the best chance they had to resolve this situation in a way that would allow all concerned to save face, at least in public. She thought that Henry would be relieved to have her present him with a plan that would spare him and Mary public shame.

If he had any better ideas, he had not put words to them.

" _She_ was the one who chose to act the wanton." He spat the words at Mary, glaring at her. "Why should _we_ have to solve the problems she has created for herself?"

"She's your daughter!" Anne protested. She could not believe that Henry, for all his anger, would refuse to accept a solution that would allow him to hide the truth of Mary's situation from the world. Could he really be so angry with Mary that he would rather court the embarrassment that public knowledge of her condition would bring him than help her?

"Then I have a whore for a daughter! A whore who bedded a man who was not her husband and who has his brat in her belly, like some village slut!" Anne stiffened at his words as though he had slapped her but he did not notice her reaction. All he was aware of was his anger towards Mary, and the whole situation. He let out a short, bitter laugh. "Everybody always said that Katherine was such a woman of virtue but she clearly did not teach her daughter how a virtuous woman should behave, did she?" He asked spitefully, watching Mary to see if she would weep.

It had never ceased to irritate him to know of the high esteem in which Katherine was held when he sought to set her aside, even when he made it known that she had duped him into taking her as his wife when she knew that her marriage to Arthur was consummated and that their union would be accursed, their innocent sons born dead because of their parents' sin.

The people took her side then, revering her as though she was a saint and reviling him for wanting to set her aside, refusing to see that it was God's will that he do so.

What would the people think of Katherine now, when they knew what her daughter had done?

"Henry!" Anne did not deny that she had considered Katherine her enemy but there was no way that a woman almost six years dead could reasonably be blamed for this.

"If you wanted my mother to teach me to be a virtuous woman, maybe you should have let us be together!" Mary snapped, goaded into anger by her father's attack on her mother. She could admit that she had made a bad choice and she had not expected her father to receive the news of her condition with anything but dismay but her mother never did anything to justify her father's cruel words, or the harsh treatment he meted out to her in the last years of her life. "You kept us apart for _years_ , you never let us send letters to one another and you wouldn't even let me see her when she was sick and dying. How could she teach me anything?"

"She taught you to be arrogant and disobedient, just like her." Henry growled.

At the back of his mind, part of him thought that he might have been gentler with his daughter if Mary showed by her demeanour that she recognized how gravely she had sinned and how deep her disgrace was, and if she came before him as a humble penitent, knowing that only his mercy and charity could spare her and her bastard child the worst consequences of her disgrace. Instead, Mary came before him with her head held high, as proud as a Queen, reminding him of her mother and the way that she too had held her head high when she walked into the court at Blackfriars, richly gowned and wearing her finest jewels, though he had commanded that she should dress plainly, as befitted a woman who had been exposed as having lived in sin for many years, and then declared that she would not accept the authority of the court to judge her case, daring to say that the court that _he_ had accepted was not good enough to try _her_.

Mary had all her mother's pride and obstinacy, spending years pretending to the title of Princess before she finally admitted that she was nothing but a bastard, and even now that she had put them in this position, she was still proud, daring to argue with him instead of remaining silent.

"She was a good woman and she loved you," Mary said, forcing herself to keep from adding that her mother was a better wife to her father than he deserved. In his anger, she could not be sure that he would not seize on the word 'wife', call it treason and use it as an excuse to send her to the Tower, perhaps even the scaffold. Her father snorted in derision at her defence of her mother and the sound stoked the fire of her temper. "In any case, you should thank me!"

"Thank you?" Henry gaped at his daughter, incredulous. "Are you mad, girl? Why should I thank you for shaming me like this?"

"You have declared that I am a bastard, and that I am not fit to succeed. Now, you will never need to worry that anybody will think that you were wrong to do this." She was treading on dangerous territory and she knew it, even without her father's reddening face as a warning to choose her words carefully. "Even my cousin the Emperor will wash his hands of me when he hears this."

"That's enough, Mary." Anne's rebuke might have been nominally directed at Mary but the stern glare on her face was for Henry, who subsided with a scowl, unwilling to fight with his wife. "What's done is done. We cannot change it. All we can do is decide what we are going to do now. If I speak to my uncle, he can help me get in touch with Charles, to bring him back..."

"If that boy dares to set foot in my kingdom again, he will meet the executioner's axe." Henry interrupted, glowering at Mary. If she thought that she was going to be able to marry her lover and pretend that all was well, she would soon learn that her hope was a vain one.

"Then do you have another husband in mind, or would you like me to choose one." Anne offered, knowing from Henry's tone that he would not allow himself to be persuaded to relent where Charles was concerned, not in the near future, at any rate. "My brother is a widower." She suggested. The match would infuriate her father, especially if he learned why there was a need for a hasty marriage, but she did not imagine that George would object to it, if she asked it of him. Mary was a beautiful young woman, and a King's daughter, so any children she and George had, once the child Mary carried was born, would have royal blood in their veins.

She also loved children, so she was sure to be a kind stepmother to Nell and Tommy and that, above all else, was something that would endear her to George.

"No." Henry rejected the suggestion outright, appalled by the idea of rewarding Mary's misconduct by marrying her to George Boleyn, allowing her to be a duchess in the future, when his father died, and allowing her child to pretend to be Anne's niece or nephew. And if Mary had a boy, one who could pretend to be of legitimate birth, he would not put it past the Bishop of Rome to urge those who followed him to support the brat as a rival to Harry. "We are not going to find her a husband – she didn't need a husband to get with child, so we are not going to find her one now."

"You want to send Mary away from court to have the child in secret?" Anne asked, thinking that he might prefer to conceal Mary's pregnancy, and see to it that the baby was taken from her to be brought up in secret, by people who could be trusted not to reveal the origins of their tiny charge. It could be done, if that was what he wanted, but it would be painful for Mary to be parted from her child, so she would prefer to persuade him of the merits of finding her a husband. At least that way, mother and baby could be allowed to stay together.

"No." Henry responded immediately. "She will stay here, and she will continue her duties in your household – and without any nonsense about pretending to be ill in order to shirk her tasks!"

"But her condition will be obvious within a month, two at most." Anne protested. Even if Mistress Porter had not forbidden her to wear tightly laced corsets, she knew that her pregnancy would be impossible to conceal before the fifth month was over. The court was filled with sharp eyes and sharper tongues so, if Mary stayed, it would not be long before everybody knew of her condition.

Henry raised an eyebrow in affected surprise, as though he could not understand why she would object to the idea. "I realize that." His voice was calm, but the expression on his face when he looked at his daughter was one of grim satisfaction mingled with his anger.

Mary understood what her father wanted.

For most men, however angry they might be to learn that their unmarried daughter was with child, their first concern would be to ensure that their family's honour and good name was protected. To that end, they would be eager to seize on any suggestion they were offered that would allow them to pretend that their grandchild was conceived in wedlock, and hope that the fiction would convince as many people as possible. Where her father was concerned, however, it seemed that he was far more interested in punishing her for her condition – though she acknowledged that her defence of her mother must have hardened his attitude towards her and her child – than in trying to hide the truth, to protect his pride if for no other reason.

He knew how humiliating it would be for her to have to continue to serve in Anne's household while her belly grew larger and everybody who set eyes on her knew why.

That was what he wanted.

He wanted her to have people staring at her and whispering about her, wanted her to be daily reminded of her fall from grace, and if he was determined to see to it that she suffered, even Anne would not be able to persuade him to relent before her condition was past hiding.

Keeping her head high, refusing to let him see that his order hurt her, she curtsied to him gracefully. "If that is Your Majesty's wish, I will obey." She said steadily, knowing that, while her father probably wanted to see her weep and hear her plead with him not to expose her shame to public view, it would not lead him to soften towards her or to reverse his edict if she did.

There was no point in pleading with him.

It would avail her nothing.

Henry frowned at her, irritated by her dignified bearing. "Leave us." He ordered curtly, watching as Mary curtsied again and withdrew. "How did she dare to behave like that?" He asked Anne, though he did not look at her. His scowl was directed at the door, as though he could see through it and watch Mary as she made her way back to her own quarters. "How did I allow myself to let her fool me? I was so sure that she had learned her lesson and that I could trust her, and welcome her into our family as my daughter, and then I learn that she behaved like a common harlot!"

To his surprise, instead of consoling him for his misfortune in his daughter's behaviour, or reassuring him that what happened was no fault of his and that he should never blame herself for Mary's wrongdoing, Anne's face betrayed her anger and hurt.

"We were not yet married when we conceived Elizabeth." She observed.

At first, he stared at her as though he could not understand what she was talking about, combing his mind to think which of his comments would offend her. Anne could see in his eyes the moment his words on women who conceived children before they were married came to mind and he realized that the condemnation he intended for Mary could also be applied to her.

"You know that I didn't mean you, sweetheart." Henry hastened to placate her. "Our situation was completely different!"

"Was it?" Anne asked pointedly. "We were not married at the time." Technically, as his annulment to Katherine was not finalized, he was Katherine's husband in the eyes of the world on the magical night in Calais when they created Elizabeth. Even after Cranmer investigated the matter and found that Katherine was not and never had been Henry's wife, they could not let anybody, aside from the trusted few who attended the ceremony, know when their secret marriage took place. She knew that her father discreetly circulated rumours of a marriage in the November prior to their union, a date that would allow for Elizabeth to be conceived after her parents married.

"But we were promised to one another, and we would have married years before, had we been able to." Henry maintained. The last thing he wanted was for Anne to be upset, especially in her condition, or for her to imagine that he would ever condemn her for becoming his lover before she could become his wife. It was not their fault that others spent so many years conspiring against them, seeking to prevent their marriage and happiness and trying to keep him tied to Katherine. If anything, he felt that they deserved praise for waiting as long as they had.

Anne did not look convinced. She wondered if Henry's insistence that their situation was different was partly motivated by the fact that he did not view it as wrong for any woman to give herself to him, even without the promise of marriage. She never heard him condemn Lady Blount or Jane Seymour for bearing his illegitimate sons; Lady Blount and her husband were rewarded with an earldom and estates, Jane Seymour was well-dowered when she married, Henry Fitzroy was accorded an unprecedented degree of honour when he was only a toddler and, under other circumstances, she was sure that little Edward would be able to boast a peerage by now.

Henry took her hands in his, kissing them in turn before laying a gentle hand on her abdomen. He could remember the day she confided in him that she was carrying Elizabeth, and of the rush to marry her and to make the necessary provisions to ensure that their child's legitimacy would be recognized. "And we knew that we would be able to be married very soon." He pointed out. "Once we had Francis' support, and we had Cranmer ready to step in as Archbishop of Canterbury. It's no sin for a man and woman who are betrothed to one another to lie together before the wedding. It's different with Mary; she isn't betrothed to the Howard boy, but she was still his lover. She did it to hurt and humiliate me, and for no other reason, I'm sure of it." He added, scowling. Not only had Mary exposed him to ridicule with her behaviour, Anne was also upset thanks to her.

"She's lonely." Anne countered. Until today, she had not realized just how lonely Mary must be.

In a way, her life was almost as lonely as it must have been during her time at the More. She had formed a tepid friendship with Kitty Howard but, aside from Kitty, none of the other ladies of Anne's household paid much attention to her. Elizabeth and Harry were still wary of her and, though Henry occasionally singled her out for attention, he could not be described as a devoted or loving father to her – something that Anne knew could be laid at her door, at least in part; after Mary was implicated in Brereton's attack, Henry would not want to show his daughter much favour for fear of offending her. She should have made it plain to him a long time ago that she would not be angry or unhappy to see him honour Mary as a King's daughter should be honoured, and treat her with love and respect. If she had, maybe none of this would have happened.

If Charles offered her friendship, acceptance and affection, it was not surprising that Mary responded to him, craving love so much that she acted against her better judgement.

God knew that she was not the first person to do so, nor would she be the last.

Henry grunted acknowledgement of her words. He did not argue with her, probably for fear of upsetting her, but he was plainly not convinced, nor was he inclined to soften his view of Mary.

She did not know how she would be able to convince him that his chosen course of action was one that could only bring unnecessary pain to all concerned, especially in time to hide Mary's condition from the court, but she knew better than to think that any attempt to debate the issue with him now, when he was so angry with Mary that he was unwilling to listen to any idea that might help her, could have any hope of success. If anything, it would make matters worse if she spoke for Mary now. As well as that, despite his attempts to reassure her that he did not view Elizabeth's conception before their wedding in the same light that he viewed the conception of Mary's child, she was hurt by what he said, and did not want to be around him at this moment.

"Excuse me." Her voice was colder than she intended it to be, and she could see from the expression on Henry's face that he was surprised and hurt by it, but she could not form her lips in a smile to reassure him. "I think that I need to rest." She motioned towards her abdomen, knowing that Henry would never try to keep her from doing anything that would help safeguard their unborn child.

"Of course, sweetheart." Henry said, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. "This has been very difficult for all of us, and you shouldn't be worrying about anything in your condition. You rest. I'll come to your rooms later to see how you are. Maybe we can dine alone, if you don't want to eat with the court." He offered, hoping that she would opt for this. The last thing he wanted was to have to sit on the dais, before the eagle eyes of his courtiers, eating and drinking as though nothing was amiss and knowing that they would soon be gossiping about his daughter.

Anne nodded, leaving Henry's apartment without another word.

For the present, she knew that she would not be able to dissuade Henry but, if he was not going to help his daughter and his grandchild, she was going to do everything in her power for them.


	38. Chapter Thirty-Seven

**_10th January 1542_ **

Neither Anne nor Mary was able to attend Kitty's wedding to Culpepper.

They were able to take part in the wedding preparations, helping Kitty choose fabrics for her trousseau, which Anne had undertaken to provide for her, knowing that her cousin could ill-afford the expense, and to design her wedding gown, and make the countless little arrangements necessary, but they could not attend the ceremony itself.

Mistress Porter was adamant that Anne should stay in her apartment, even if she refused to stay in bed, and it would have been out of the question for Mary to attend, of course.

Although she had prayed that he would, her father had not relented and allowed her to leave the court before her condition was past hiding.

He preferred to leave her exposed to public ridicule than to do anything to help her, preferring to court the embarrassment of letting others know that his first grandchild would be born a bastard rather than take pity on his daughter and spare her further shame. Although he did not go so far as to make any kind of public announcement of her condition, it did not take long after their confrontation for her bump to grow so much that she could no longer wear her tight corset and stomacher to disguise the change to her shape, and anybody with eyes could see the change to her body's shape, and guess the cause. He also had not hesitated to pointedly remark to Ambassador Mendoza, within earshot of others, that his daughter had shamed him, and her kin.

Her father made it clear to her that, while she was to continue her duties in Anne's household without fail, attending her stepmother every day and performing whatever tasks Anne saw fit to command of her, without daring to make any excuse about feeling to unwell to work, she was not permitted to wander the rest of the palace or the gardens without permission.

Mary would have liked to believe that the prohibition was for her protection, that he did not want her to have to parade her shame before the whole court, even if she had to put up with the embarrassment of knowing that Anne's other ladies were whispering about her. However, she was realistic enough to know that it was more likely that he wanted to keep her confined to either her own rooms or to Anne's apartment to keep her from coming into contact with anybody who might sympathize with her, despite her shame, and feel that she was treated too harshly.

If that was the case, he need not have worried.

Even the Imperial ambassador had studiously avoided her, signalling that her cousin the Emperor had no intention of interceding on her behalf and insisting that, out of respect for his family's honour, a husband should be found for her and that she should be allowed to quietly retire from court, in the hope that, in time, her indiscretion would fade from people's memories.

It was likely that he would want to forget their tie by blood now, feeling embarrassed to think that he had once championed her and tried to advance her cause as her father's rightful heiress now that, to the eyes of many men, himself included she had proven herself so unworthy – though, if she was a man, nobody would think less of her if she left a small army of bastards scattered throughout the country, and they would never deny her her right to the throne for it.

Mendoza might once have been a friend to her mother, and might have wanted to be a friend to Mary under other circumstances, but he was not willing to champion her cause now.

Whatever her father's reason for restricting her access to the rest of the palace, Mary was happy not to venture out into the open court. She truly did not know which would be worse; the disappointment that those who had once supported her would feel when they saw the evidence of her fall from grace, and thought that their previous high opinion of her had proven so undeserved, or the smug, satisfied looks of her enemies now that they knew that she had done her cause as much harm as they had, if not more, and through her own folly.

Anne's father visited frequently after he learned of Mary's condition and, although he said nothing openly derisive – Mary suspected that Anne had warned him to treat her with at least a modicum of courtesy, and she wouldn't have put it past her to threaten him with eviction from her presence if he defied her – his gaze often drifted to her swelling belly, ill-concealed under the gown she wore, and each time he saw her, his mouth curved in a smug smile of triumph.

She imagined that he must have celebrated when he learned of her condition.

His grandson's claim to the throne became more secure by the day, as word of Mary's condition spread. She wouldn't be surprised if he was helping ensure that everybody in England knew.

Kitty was laced into her gown, and her hair was styled becomingly in Anne's apartment, under her cousin's watchful gaze. Her excitement was palpable, and she bounced from one foot to another as Nan Saville and Madge Shelton adjusted the train of her gown, looking more like a little girl, no older than Elizabeth, than a young woman who was about to be married. Unlike so many young women, whether they were ordinary Englishwomen or of noble or royal birth, she was to marry a man of her choosing, a man she loved and could look forward to living happily with.

She was lucky, and she knew it.

Not wanting any of her ladies to be deprived of the opportunity to join in the wedding festivities, Anne insisted that they should all attend the ceremony and the feast that the King commanded in honour of the young couple. "I insist." She said firmly when several of her ladies protested that they could not leave her. "I will have the Lady Mary for company, and Mistress Porter will make sure that I am well cared for." She managed, with some difficulty, to keep from pulling a face at the last part. Although she won the battle over whether or not she would be confined to her bed for the duration of this pregnancy, there was no escaping Mistress Porter's monitoring. "Go and enjoy yourselves, all of you, and remember that I will want to hear everything."

She waved them away, and they curtsied and withdrew. She suspected that they were not sorry to be compelled to attend the ceremony. Kitty and Culpepper's wedding would be a minor event, as court celebrations went, but it would still be a welcome change from their usual, quiet routine. Now that Anne was confined to her apartment until her child was delivered, they were obliged to share her confinement while they were attending her. Although nobody would dare to quarrel in front of her, it was no secret that some tempers were shorter than usual these days.

Even the usually placid Nan Saville had boxed the ears of a serving woman for her clumsiness when she knocked over the bowl of flowers in Anne's bedchamber.

Kitty skipped over to her side, bobbing a curtsey. "Thank you for everything, Your Majesty." She said earnestly, beaming when Anne motioned for her to bend forward so that she could kiss her cheek. "You have always been so kind to me, and I am grateful to you, truly I am."

Her uncle and step-grandmother had both drummed it into her head that she should consider herself blessed that her cousin had taken a fancy to her, and that she took an interest in her welfare, reminding her that she had little claim to such kindness, and that it could be withdrawn if she gave the Queen any reason to be displeased with her and with her conduct. The old woman seemed to view this as almost an inevitability when she first sent her to court, gloomily predicting that it would not be long before she betrayed her lack of learning, refinement and manners, proving to the Queen that she was unfit to serve in a royal household and being dismissed in disgrace, returned to Lambeth and the Dowager Duchess' charity.

Over the past couple of months, Uncle Norfolk also deemed it necessary to stress that she was especially fortunate that her brother's reckless affair with the Lady Mary had not cost her the favour of the King and Queen, as might very easily have been the case.

Uncle Norfolk told her that Charles had betrayed all of the Howards, and his siblings in particular, by bedding the Lady Mary, saying that it would not have been surprising if the King's anger over Charles' actions had led him to punish the whole family, for sharing blood with one who had offended him. Kitty would never have dared to openly contradict her uncle when he was in a temper, but she privately believed that he was worrying too much, and that the King would never punish innocent Howards because one of them made a mistake.

The King was always kind to her, and he never even spoke of Charles to her, so she was certain that he did not blame her for what her brother and the Lady Mary had done.

It was odd to think that she would soon be the aunt of the King's first grandchild.

Even if the King didn't want to own the child as his kin, everybody would _know_.

"I know you are, Kitty." Anne said gently. "Now hurry up, or you will be late for your own wedding." They could not start without her, of course, but the suggestion still sent Kitty hastening from the room, after a final curtsey. Anne sighed softly, finding it difficult to believe that it was little over two years since her uncle had asked her to find a place in her household for her young cousin, then a girl of noble blood but poor prospects, dependent on the patronage of more fortunate relatives. "That's the last time we will see Kitty Howard," she observed to Mary, "the next time we see her, she will be Lady Culpepper. It's a good match for her, thank God."

Mary nodded in response but said nothing.

It was no secret that, although Kitty and Charles were the grandchildren of a duke, and bore the name of one of England's great noble families, their father had not enjoyed an illustrious career at court, despite occasionally receiving posts thanks to the support of his kin, and he had died with nothing to leave his children but his debts. Anne's support, coupled with that of the King, had ensured that Culpepper's parents did not object when he asked for their blessing to marry Kitty, but even with the dowry Anne supplied for Kitty, and the knighthood and manor that the King bestowed on Culpepper as a wedding gift, she couldn't help but wonder if they were displeased with the idea of having Kitty Howard as their new daughter-in-law.

Her hands strayed to her stomach, and she felt her child stir within her, kicking gently.

She was realistic enough to know that it would be better if her child was a girl.

Whether or not a person viewed Mary as legitimate, it was impossible to deny that this child was a bastard, but that did not mean that her father would not view a grandson as a threat.

It was not unheard of for a bastard, or the descendent of a bastard, to try to seize the throne – though few dared to speak of it these days, Mary knew that her grandfather's claim to the English throne had come from a man born out of wedlock, although the Beauforts were eventually legitimised under the law – and, if there was any chance that a son of Mary's might one day grow to challenge Harry's claim to the throne, or that his children would challenge Harry's children, she knew that her father would not grieve if that son did not grow to manhood.

Even if the King did not order the child strangled in his cradle, Mary did not believe that the Duke of Wiltshire would hesitate to stoop so low, and if he did, she was sure that he would escape punishment for his crime. The King was unlikely to trouble himself by ordering an investigation into the death of a grandson that he would prefer was never born.

She could not imagine that there would be a man in England who would champion a daughter she bore out of wedlock as a potential heiress to the throne, so her father would have no cause to view his granddaughter as a threat to his adored son. However, while a bastard son might earn his living by learning a trade or a profession, and could do well for himself, particularly if he was afforded a good education, a bastard daughter's only future lay in marriage, or in service. These days, she no longer had the option of entering a nunnery, unless the King was prepared to allow her to leave the country to join an order in France or Spain.

What man of rank would wish to marry the bastard daughter of a woman whose father insisted that she too was a bastard?

Hot tears blazed scalding tracks down her cheeks before she could control herself, or ask Anne for permission to retire to her own rooms, where she could weep privately. Once she began to cry, she could not force herself to stop, much as she wanted to, not even when she felt Anne's arm slip around her shoulders and heard her stepmother's attempts to soothe her, speaking in the same kind, gentle tone that she would have used with Elizabeth or Harry if they were upset. She did not know how long she sat there, weeping, but she knew that Anne never pulled away from her.

When her sobs died down and her tears died out, Mistress Porter handed her a goblet of hot wine. Mary could smell that she had added herbs to it, and hoped they would not be bitter.

As soon as the midwife learned of her pregnancy, she insisted that Mary take the same daily tonics as Anne, and would not hear any arguments. Anne had advised that she do as she was told, her eyes as alight with mischief as a child's when she predicted that Mistress Porter would be prepared to force her tonics down their throats if they didn't take them willingly.

"Drink that, my lady." Mistress Porter commanded briskly, standing over Mary until she had drained the goblet. "I think you needed that, my lady." She said once she accepted the empty goblet from her, sounding gentler than Mary had ever heard her speak. "If you always try to keep your sorrows buried, they'll fester in your heart, and that will do no good to you or to your child." She did not wait for Mary to say anything in response before bobbing a curtsey and moving away from them to go about her duties, leaving them some privacy.

To her credit, Anne did not push her to speak about what was grieving her. She knew the cause of Mary's troubles perfectly well, and she refused to pretend that she didn't.

She simply waited in silence until Mary was calm before gently asking if there was anything she could do to help.

"I don't know, Your Majesty." Mary said in a soft voice, never moving her hands from her stomach. Her baby was no longer kicking her, but she could feel it turn gently inside her. "My father... I mean, His Majesty the King..." She amended hastily, thinking that, if his treatment of her was any indication, her father was not pleased to think that she was his daughter.

"Your father, Mary." Anne corrected her. "He may be acting like a stubborn fool, but he is still your father, and I believe with all my heart that he still loves you, even if it doesn't seem like it now."

It was truly a sign of how far they had come that she could comfort Mary with reassurances that Henry loved her.

When Henry first asked her to be his wife, she gave little thought to the little girl and little boy who would become her stepchildren once they were married.

The toddler Duke of Richmond died shortly afterwards, before she ever met the little boy, and Mary was away in Wales, living with her household at Ludlow Castle, for most of her courtship with Henry. She could count on one hand the number of times she saw Mary about the court in those days, and she never approached her to speak to her. At the time, although it frustrated her that Katherine refused to make matters easier for all concerned by yielding, and although she knew that Katherine's obstinacy was due, in large part, to her desire to preserve Mary's position as heiress to the throne, she harboured no ill-will towards the then-princess.

It was no fault of Mary's that she was the only surviving child of the union that Henry needed to dissolve in order to be free to marry Anne, nor was she to blame for the fact that her mother was so obsessed with the idea of seeing her as England's Queen that she refused to consider the idea of retiring to a nunnery, or accepting an honoured place at court as Princess Dowager of Wales, not even when the possibility that her daughter might be legitimised, and permitted a place in the line of succession after the children of the King's new marriage, was broached.

Her feelings changed after Elizabeth was born.

Much as she loved her daughter, and everything about her, it was undeniable that life would have been easier for her if Elizabeth was born a boy.

A son would have reassured Henry that he made the right choice when he decided to set Katherine aside and make Anne Queen in her place. A son would have shown the Emperor and the Bishop of Rome that Henry would not be easily persuaded to renounce his marriage to Anne when she was the one to give him the son he craved, and England the Prince of Wales it needed. A son would have won them the support of many of the English people who, despite the love they bore for Katherine and Mary, would rather look to a Prince of Wales as their future ruler than a Princess.

The arrival of a daughter heartened those who supported Katherine and Mary. Not only did they view it as proof that God would not smile on Henry's marriage to Anne, they also hoped that it would lead Henry to reconsider the wisdom of dissolving his union with Katherine and disinheriting Mary when, instead of having the prince he craved, he traded a princess fast approaching womanhood for an infant in the nursery.

She was never allowed to forget how much Henry loved Mary.

Her father was quick to remind her of her husband's affection for her stepdaughter, as well as the honours he lavished on Mary during her childhood, comparing his memories of the provisions made for Mary during her infancy with those made for Elizabeth, trying to gauge whether his second daughter was less cherished than the first. He feared that, if she could only bear a daughter, as Katherine had, there was a risk that Henry would prefer the daughter he had loved for many years to the new arrival, and if he did, the Boleyns could lose everything.

The last thing she wanted was to see Henry choose to honour his daughter by Katherine above their own child, so she was relieved when she saw that he had no intention of allowing Mary to enjoy the honours due to a princess – though she was apprehensive when he indicated that he intended to place her in Elizabeth's household – and when she learned that Henry never spoke to Mary when he visited Elizabeth's establishment at Hatfield, and frightened when he chided her for worrying about Elizabeth's future marriage when Mary was not yet betrothed.

Now, she wanted to see Henry and Mary reconciled, for both of their sakes, as well as the sake of the innocent child in Mary's womb.

"He is so angry with me." Mary bit her lower lip to keep fresh tears from flowing. If Anne knew anything of what her father had planned for her and for her baby, she needed to know sooner rather than later. "I know that what Charles and I did was wrong, but that's not our baby's fault. Our baby is innocent, and shouldn't be punished for what we did."

Jesus commanded that the little children be allowed to come unto him.

That story was one of Mary's favourites when she was a little girl.

She had never heard or read anything to indicate that Jesus made any inquiries about the parentage or the legitimacy of those children before he gathered them around him.

"You're worried about what will happen to your child after it's born." It wasn't a question. Anne had never been in Mary's position, but she came close enough to it when she was pregnant with Elizabeth, before Henry was able to marry her, to be able to sympathise with Mary now. She wished that she could promise Mary that, by the time she gave birth to her child, Henry's anger towards her would have cooled enough that he would be able to make arrangements for her and for the child to enjoy a comfortable life. There could be no question of Mary raising her child at court; in the future, they might be able to visit but, in the immediate aftermath of the birth, it would be better if they left and lived quietly in the country for a few years at least.

The last thing she wanted was to give Mary false hope by speaking of it, in case she set her heart on it and was distressed if it didn't happen, but she had not given up on the idea of persuading Henry to allow Charles to return to be a husband to Mary and a father to their child.

Once their own child was born, she hoped that she would be better able to convince Henry that it was in everybody's best interests if, instead of continuing to punish Mary for her mistake, he recognized that it was more important to see to it that his innocent grandchild did not pay the price for her parents' actions, and that he or she should be allowed to have their father. If she gave him a Duke of York, she imagined that she would have a good chance of convincing him, especially if Mary's child was a girl, and thus no threat to the line of succession.

"I don't know what will happen to my baby." Mary sniffled miserably. "If my father won't help us..."

"I will." Anne pledged, determined that even Henry would not keep her from doing this. "Whatever your father decides, I promise that I will help you and your child."

She had countless manors at her disposal, any one of which would be a fine home for Mary and the child, and she had no shortage of money at her disposal. They would be well-taken care of and, when the child was older, she could dower a girl richly or deed estates to a boy.

Henry's grandchild would never be left destitute while she had the power to prevent it.

"Thank you." Mary's gratitude was heartfelt.

There was not a doubt in her mind that Anne would keep her promise, and while she was still worried about how her father would react to his grandchild, and how he would deal with them both, the weight on her shoulders was lightened by the assurance that she and the baby had at least one person they would be able to count as their friend and champion.

Whatever else Anne might have done, she would always be indebted to her for this.

* * *

**_27th January 1542_ **

Some of Elizabeth's maids-in-waiting didn't believe that she was old enough to remember what it was like before Harry was born.

She was a very little girl then, not even three, and she knew that some children her age couldn't remember back to when they were that young but she could.

Before Harry was born, Lady Bryan, who was still her governess in those days, always told her that it was very important that she should pray every day for the Queen, her mother, to bear a Prince, who would be King of England after her father. They said prayers in the chapel at Mass every morning, and at the prayer desk in the nursery before Elizabeth went to bed. God listened to all of the prayers that Elizabeth, Lady Bryan and Elizabeth's attendants said, and he sent Harry to her Mama. Elizabeth was very pleased to be able to tell her Mama about their prayers.

She never told her Mama about the things she heard her attendants whispering, late at night when the nursery was illuminated by just a few candles to chase away the darkness.

They whispered amongst themselves that it was Mama's last chance to give Papa a son, and although she never heard them say what they thought would happen if the baby was a girl instead of the boy that they were all praying for, Elizabeth somehow knew that they thought that, whatever was going to happen to her Mama, it would not be a nice thing. She was worried that something nasty might happen to Mama so she prayed extra hard and was very, very happy when Papa woke her and told her that she had a new baby brother.

Now that she was a big girl of eight years, she knew the reason why she was supposed to pray that her Mama gave her a baby brother instead of a baby sister.

Elizabeth was the Princess of England and, when she was a tiny baby, the King and Parliament decreed that she was to be her Papa's heir if she had no brother, but nobody _really_ wanted the heir to the throne to be a princess. Given the choice, they would rather have a Prince of Wales who would be King one day, and because of this, Harry became the heir to the throne as soon as he was born and she was second in line to the throne, even though Elizabeth was the oldest. If her Mama bore another prince to be Duke of York, he would become second and Elizabeth third.

Edward and Mary didn't count because they weren't a prince and princess.

Because there was already a Prince of Wales, it wasn't as important that the new baby would be a Duke of York but Lady Bryan and Kat both stressed that Mama and Papa would be very happy if they could have a boy – though a girl would be a blessing too – so they all prayed for one.

Harry fidgeted by her side as they said their prayers in the chapel. He was usually very good about being still and quiet when he was supposed to but he wasn't even six yet, so it was difficult for him to be good for a long time. When he was very small, he used to try to whisper to her when he was bored during Mass but Elizabeth never whispered back. She knew that it was part of her job as Harry's older sister to set him a good example, so that he would see how he ought to behave, and she must never, ever encourage him if he was misbehaving.

She knew without looking at him that Robert was also tired of saying his prayers.

He was even worse at behaving himself in the chapel than the very little children were.

When Mass was over, Harry slipped his plump hand in hers as they walked out of the chapel, whispering to her that they should go outside to the garden to play. Elizabeth was happy to agree so they, and their companions, all filed outside, with their governesses and attendants following. Lady Bryan walked quite close behind them, making sure to keep a very close eye on Harry, but Kat knew that Elizabeth was a big girl now, and that she could be trusted to behave as a princess should, even if her governess walked further back and couldn't listen to what she said.

"When will our baby brother be here?" Harry asked, a frown creasing his brow. It seemed like a very long time ago that Lady Bryan told him that Mama hoped to give them a new brother, and he was looking forward to having somebody new at Eltham to play with, even though babies were very small and stupid when they were born, and couldn't play games until they were bigger.

"In a month, or maybe a little later." Elizabeth wasn't certain how babies were made, and didn't entirely believe the things that Robert, who thought that he knew _everything_ , had told her on the subject, but she asked Kat, and Kat told her that the baby was expected at the end of February or the beginning of March. It would be alright if the baby came a little earlier than that but if it came too early, it could be dangerous, as it wouldn't have had enough time to grow strong.

Elizabeth asked her how strong the baby would be if it didn't come until April, or maybe even May, but Kat just smiled, shook her head and said that that would never happen.

"And it will be a brother for us, not a sister?" Harry wasn't sure how he felt about this. He was his Mama's little boy, her special son, and he didn't relish the prospect of sharing her with a baby brother. Lady Bryan told him that, even if Mama bore a Duke of York, Harry would still be the Prince of Wales and the most important boy in England but he wasn't sure that he believed her.

She might just be trying to make him feel better.

He didn't want Mama to have a baby boy if she was going to love him best and forget about Harry... but he didn't want her to have a baby girl, either, if it meant that Lilibet was forgotten.

"Nobody can know if whether we will have a new brother or a sister until the baby is born." Elizabeth told him, glad that she knew the answer to his question. She didn't like it when Harry asked her a question and she didn't know the answer, especially when she had to ask Robert for the answer because the governesses wouldn't tell her. She liked Robert, and enjoyed playing with him, but she thought that he became far too pleased with himself when he knew something and she didn't. "They just want the baby to be a boy."

"Oh." Harry didn't think that this was very fair to the poor baby. If it was a girl, people would be sad about that and then they wouldn't be as happy as they should be when she was born. "Why?"

"Because Papa wants to have two princes, if he can," Elizabeth explained. "He was King for a very long time without having a Prince of Wales to be his heir, and even though he has you..."

"He has you too." Harry cut in loyally.

Elizabeth gave him a smile for this before continuing. "He'd still like another boy, if he can have one, so that there are two princes and one princess instead of just one of each." She didn't want to be the one to explain to Harry that people wanted Papa and Mama to have another prince in case something happened to Harry before he could be King. That would frighten him.

"What about Edward?" He asked curiously. "If Mama gives Papa a new princess, could Papa let Edward be a prince if he wants to have two?"

"No." Elizabeth shook her head decisively. "Edward can't be a prince because he's not Mama's son. He's a lord instead, but he wouldn't ever be allowed to become King. That's the law." She added hastily, before Harry could ask her why and she had to tell him that she wasn't sure.

Harry nodded, even though he didn't fully understand.

The matter of Edward, and of his very oldest sister, the Lady Mary, was a very puzzling one and nobody seemed to be able to explain it in a way that made it easy for him to understand. When he was a big boy of six, and he had a proper tutor to teach him his lessons – somebody who would know a lot more than Lady Bryan, or even Kat, did – he would ask him to explain things.

"Do you think that Mama wants a baby boy more than she wants a baby girl?" He asked.

"Lady Bryan and Kat say that she wants a baby boy most of all, but I think that she'd be just as happy to have a baby girl." Elizabeth was sure of that. People might think that boys were the most important of all, but she never felt as though her Mama or her Papa loved her any less than they loved Harry, and she was sure that the new baby would be loved to, even if it was a girl.

"Good." Harry was pleased to know that his Mama would welcome the baby but, after a few moments, a frown creased his brow. "It's not fair, Lilibet." He announced.

Elizabeth raised a surprised eyebrow at her brother's pronouncement. "What's not fair?"

"When the baby is born, I'm going to be its big brother but you get to be my big sister and the baby's big sister too."

"But you get to have me for a big sister," Elizabeth countered, "I don't have a big sister... not a _proper_ one, anyway." She amended, thinking of the Lady Mary. It was difficult to believe that the Lady Mary, who was so kind to her when she was very small, and who always played games with her, had tried to hurt her Mama and Harry but Elizabeth couldn't allow herself to forget this.

"That's true." Harry agreed, cheering up at the thought.

He thought that he was a very lucky boy to have a big sister like Lilibet, and he decided that, when they baby was born, he or she was going to feel just as lucky to have him for a big brother.

He just hoped that he didn't have to wait too much longer to be a big brother.

* * *

**_10th February 1542_ **

Mary's labour pains began shortly after midnight.

She did her best to bear the pain in silence at first, remembering what she had heard Mistress Porter and Anne's ladies say about women who endured false pains that they mistook for the pains of childbirth – if Madge Shelton was to be believed, Anne suffered false pains no fewer than three times before her labour with Harry truly began – and not wanting to rouse Joan or Mistress Porter if she was not truly in need of their services. However, as time dragged on and her pains became more frequent and more severe, she could not suppress her cries of pain.

Joan was by her side so quickly that Mary wondered whether her maid had taken to sleeping half-dressed so that she would be ready to run to her at a moment's notice.

"How long ago did the pains begin, my lady?" She asked, placing her work-roughened hand in Mary's. "Squeeze it as hard as you like, my lady, it won't bother me a bit."

Mary was grateful for the support as the next wave of pain tore through her, leaving her gasping for breath by the time it passed.

She knew, of course, that God had decreed that, as punishment for Eve's disobedience, women must suffer when they brought their children into the world but, until tonight, she had no known how much a woman must suffer in order to become a mother, and she couldn't help but wish that God had chosen a less severe punishment for Eve.

How strong her own mother must have been to endure this seven times!

Once the pain passed, Joan gently extracted her hand from Mary's grip and hastened to the door. Mary could hear her commanding a servant girl to fetch Mistress Porter without delay, sharply forbidding her to dawdle unless she wished to be reported to the Queen in the morning.

It was a sign of the fact that Anne was known to have taken Mary under her protection that this threat was enough to send the servant scurrying in search of Mistress Porter as fast as her legs could carry her, returning with the midwife in a matter of minutes, and deferentially asking Mistress Porter and Joan if there was anything else that they needed fetched.

"Go down to the kitchens, and tell them that we need hot water sent up at once, and red wine. Then fetch clean linens." Mistress Porter ordered, thankful that there was a plentiful supply on hand. "Is there soap?" She asked Joan. When Joan nodded, indicating the washstand in the corner, where a jug of water and a cake of soap were laid out for Mary's use, she moved to wash her hands carefully before donning a voluminous white apron. "I learned that from a friend of mine, my lady," she told Mary conversationally. "She had fewer mothers take fevers after bearing their babies than any other midwife I know, and she told me that the secret of her success was a good bar of lye soap. She swore by it, and it's worked very well for me too."

Mary nodded, although she was only half-listening to Mistress Porter's words.

She was sure that the midwife must be one of the best, if she had been trusted to take care of Anne during her confinements, and based on what she knew of Mistress Porter's nature, she was sure that she did not need to worry that the woman might have accepted a bribe from the Duke of Norfolk or the Duke of Wiltshire to see to it that her baby was not allowed to live long.

Her pains came hard and fast after that, and she was scarcely aware of the passage of time. She could feel Joan's hand in hers, and took comfort from her maid's presence, glad to have somebody by her side who thought kindly of her, and she could hear Mistress Porter's encouraging words, but she didn't know if minutes or hours or even days passed while she laboured.

At one point, when her pains were at their most severe, she thought that she could see her mother standing by her bed, looking down at her.

She was afraid that she would see disappointment in her mother's eyes, sorrow that her daughter should have fallen so far from grace and that her grandchild was to be born in the dead of the night, with only a midwife and a maid in attendance, instead of the small army of ladies who would have been present to welcome a legitimate royal child into the world, but she did not.

Her mother's smile was warm and compassionate, and Mary was sure that the tears in her eyes were tears of joy and welcome for her grandchild.

She imagined that, while Joan held one of her hands in hers, her mother held the other, squeezing gently and encouraging her to be brave, to think of the baby she would soon hold in her arms.

"Nearly there, my lady," Mistress Porter told her encouragingly. "I can see the head crowning. A few strong pushes will do the trick, there's a good girl."

Taking a deep breath, Mary pushed with all of her strength, feeling something slide between her legs and into Mistress Porter's waiting hands. A quick slapping sound was followed by a wail of indignation from the newborn infant, who was far from pleased to be forced into the world.

"It's a girl, my lady," Mistress Porter announced, saying an inward prayer of thanksgiving that the child was female and healthy. "You have a fine little daughter." She busied herself cutting the cord that connected mother and child, passing the infant to Joan to be washed and wrapped in the embroidered shawl laid ready for the birth before she delivered the afterbirth.

Mary struggled to sit up, and Mistress Porter hastened to her side to help lift her into a sitting position and prop her up with pillows. Despite the ordeal of labour, she didn't feel tired.

"I want to see her." She insisted, determined that she would not allow Mistress Porter or Joan to persuade her to rest first.

"Of course you do, my lady," Mistress Porter smiled at her, patting her shoulder in a kind, if overly familiar manner, and then beckoning to Joan to bring the clean and swaddled baby over. She took the baby from Joan and clucked soothingly at her in order to silence her whimpers, pleased to see that the child's colour was good. "Here she is, my lady; your new daughter."

Tears brimmed in Mary's eyes as the warm bundle was laid across her arms but she brushed them away with an impatient finger, determined not to weep. She wanted to maintain her composure, to behave with the dignity befitting a princess while there were others present, but she couldn't keep a smile from spreading across her face when her daughter opened her blue eyes and looked up at her, as though studying her face, before closing her eyes again and dozing off, safe in her mother's arms.

The past months – no, the past years – had been difficult for her, and she did not doubt that there would be other difficulties to face in the future but, for now, there was no room in her heart for anything but the love she felt for her baby.

"She's beautiful, my lady," Joan breathed in awe, echoing Mary's thoughts.

"That she is." Mistress Porter agreed.

"Do you know what you'll call her?"

The baby's surname would undoubtedly be a subject of debate, once the inhabitants of the palace learned of her arrival. Mary knew that there was no way that her father would consent to his illegitimate granddaughter bearing the Tudor name but she was equally certain that the Duke of Norfolk would not want her to be a Howard, would want to distance his family from her as much as he could. She would probably be Fitzcharles or Fitzhoward, in order to signify her bastard status.

Her Christian name was another matter.

Mary knew that there was only one name that she could give her daughter.

* * *

**_14th February 1542_ **

"Her name is Katherine." Kitty, who currently preferred to answer to her married name of Lady Culpepper, announced to Anne, carefully balancing her tiny niece in her arms. "Katherine Fitzhoward. After the Lady Mary's mother and after me." She added proudly.

The baby had just been christened in the chapel, with Anne's chaplain baptizing the child and standing as her godfather, while Kitty and Joan were godmothers. Knowing that the Queen wished to see the baby, but was not allowed to leave her apartment, Kitty begged Mary for permission to bring baby Katherine for a visit after the christening, promising that she would keep her no longer than a few minutes and that she would bring her back safely afterwards.

Anne smiled at Kitty's enthusiasm, glad to see that her cousin welcomed her new niece, and inwardly congratulating Mary for saying that Kitty was also the child's namesake. Henry would certainly prefer to believe that Mary named her daughter for Kitty than for Katherine, even if everybody else knew where the child's name came from. She held out her arms for the baby, who seemed content to be passed from person to person and who settled into Anne's arms without a whimper of protest, kicking happily against the confining folds of her long christening robe.

Katherine Fitzhoward was a beautiful baby.

She was slightly small, having arrived a little earlier than expected, but her tiny limbs were sturdy and her hands and feet were plump, her cheeks rounded. Her skin was pink and healthy. To Anne's relief, her eyes were so light a blue that she was certain that they would stay blue, and the downy hair covering her small skull was blonde, rather than dark like her grandmother's.

Anne imagined that the child must take after her York ancestors, who were fair, and she was thankful for this. If there was to be any chance of Henry softening towards his granddaughter, it was better that she did not resemble the Dowager Princess too strongly. He would be more inclined to be kind to baby Katherine if he could tell himself that she took after his ancestors.

She allowed the baby to grasp her finger in one hand, planning where she would send mother and baby, once Mary was strong enough to travel. Hanworth seemed like the best option but she intended to discuss the matter with Mary before she made any decisions, and she also hoped that she would be able to persuade Henry to soften his stance towards his daughter and granddaughter before they left Whitehall, in which case he might want to make arrangements for them.

As she was musing about what the future would hold for Mary and baby Katherine, a cramping pain tore through her lower body, wrenching a gasp from her lips.

"Your Majesty!" Kitty cried, alarmed.

"Take the baby, please, Lady Culpepper," Anne instructed through gritted teeth, relinquishing the baby to Kitty. "Bring her back to the Lady Mary, and tell Mistress Porter that I need her."

"You mean... are you..."

Anne managed a thin smile. "Little Katherine is about to have a new aunt or uncle."


	39. Chapter Thirty-Eight

**_14th February 1542_ **

Anne seldom complained about any of the restrictions or measures taken to preserve her health while she was pregnant, usually accepting that they were necessary and adjusting her lifestyle to conform with Doctor Linacre's advice but, on the very rare occasions when she grumbled about something, it was Mistress Porter more often than not.

Henry humoured her, of course.

In her condition, it would not do to quarrel with her over any matter, whether trivial or serious, and he could appreciate that his lively wife found the restrictions chafing so on the occasions when she complained about Mistress Porter, he expressed his sympathy, praised her for her patience and for the care that she was taking with their unborn child, reminding her that it would not be much longer and that, when she held their son or their daughter in her arms, she would be glad that she had done everything in her power to bring him or her into the world strong and healthy.

Although he did not say so to Anne, he couldn't help but remember what it was like when Katherine carried his children, and to think that she would have done well to have emulated Anne, focusing her energy on protecting the precious unborn babies in her womb, even if it meant withdrawing from the court, forgetting about affairs of state – not that Katherine should have worried about those; as he told her, she was not his chancellor or minister – and placing herself entirely under the care of a physician and midwife until the time came for their child to be born.

Rest and good food would probably have done his children far more good than Katherine's long hours of prayer, days of fasting and of wearing a hair shirt under her finery ever could.

God might have denied him a son by Katherine in order to make it clear that their union was sinful and not one that would ever have found favour with Him, perhaps a little more care on Katherine's part while she was with child might have allowed one of their other daughters to survive... a daughter who would, hopefully, have been more pleasant and more obedient than Mary.

He wondered if Katherine would have borne the restrictions as patiently as Anne was, especially if her hours of devotion were curtailed and fasting was forbidden to her.

It was not until now that he realised that Anne's complaints about Mistress Porter were not exaggerated.

If anything, she had understated the midwife's determination that every aspect of Anne's care was just as she ordered it, with no deviations from the routine or diet she decreed, the domineering nature that allowed her to feel comfortable giving orders to Anne's ladies-in-waiting, the lowest-ranking of whom was far superior to Mistress Porter by birth, and the lack of reverence with which she was capable of treating the Queen of England and, if her behaviour today was any indication, the King too, when she thought it necessary.

As soon as the news of Anne's labour was brought to him, Henry hastened to her apartment.

He knew that it was not fitting for a man to be present during childbirth and, under ordinary circumstances, he would have had no desire to involve himself in a matter that was not only women's business, but also a messy, noisy business that no sensible man should want to witness. Even Doctor Linacre would not enter Anne's chamber unless her labour turned out to be an especially difficult one and his assistance was essential to preserve the lives of mother and child.

However, despite knowing that a birthing chamber was no place for him, and that his impulse to run in to be with Anne was misguided, Henry was still taken aback when Mistress Porter ordered him out of the room in no uncertain terms, making it clear that his presence was unwelcome.

_"I'll have enough on my hands with your wife and baby, Your Majesty," despite the respectful mode of address, Mistress Porter's tone could only be described as brusque. "I've no time or energy to spare for a fretting husband."_

Henry couldn't remember the last time anybody had spoken to him like that.

Had he not been very aware of the fact that he and Anne owed Mistress Porter a debt of gratitude for helping to ensure that Harry was born safe and healthy, he thought that he might have ordered a short stay in the Tower to remind the woman of the respect she owed her sovereign, or perhaps that he might have ordered a spell in the scold's bridle to cool her tongue.

He had already commissioned Master Holbein to design jewellery for the goldsmiths to make for Anne, in celebration of the birth of England's newest prince or princess, but he thought that he should have the artist design something else, something truly spectacular, to convey his thanks to her for putting up with Mistress Porter for so long for the sake of their child.

He thought that she deserved a special reward for that.

Mistress Porter might have evicted him from his wife's bedchamber but he would not leave her apartment, even though it meant that none of his friends could be present to keep him company as he waited. The Duke of Wiltshire and the Earl of Ormonde, along with Anne's brother-in-law, Sir William Stafford, were the only other men present in her quarters. Even the grooms of Anne's chamber were absent, as they had been since the day she entered her confinement and could no longer receive any male visitors apart from her husband or her relatives.

Anne must have known that he was nearby.

During the first couple of hours, she made a valiant effort to stifle her screams for his sake, not wanting him to know how much she was suffering, how much she must have suffered with Elizabeth and Harry, when he wasn't there to listen to her, but as her labour dragged on, she no longer had the strength to pretend for his sake – not that he wanted her to, she should save every ounce of strength she possessed to bring herself and their child through their ordeal alive and healthy – and her agonized cries tore through the apartment, echoing in his ears.

He longed to be by her side.

He knew that he could be of no real use in a birthing chamber but he could give her his hand to squeeze when the pain became too intense, or perhaps he could help bathe her to cool her.

He hated feeling so useless!

He hated to know that Anne was on the other side of that curtain, in pain, while he was powerless to relieve her suffering.

He didn't know how long he sat in Anne's apartment, deaf to anything the other three men might have said to him and keeping his gaze trained on the heavy velvet curtains that separated the room from Anne's bedchamber. It was probably a matter of hours, but it felt as though he had been there for days, the sound of his wife's screams in his ears. From time to time, one of Anne's ladies, usually her sister or Lady Culpepper, emerged to bring him news, but all they ever said was that it was going as well as it could be expected to, and that Anne was bearing up, and he could only take their word for it, as he had only the vaguest idea what to expect.

They had not needed to summon Doctor Linacre, which he took as a good sign.

After what felt like an eternity, he heard Mistress Porter's authoritative voice demand that clean linen be brought to her and, moments later, a slapping sound and a wailed protest.

Mistress Porter said something else, but he couldn't make it out. He listened intently for Anne, hoping to hear her say something that would indicate to him that she was safe.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the men in Anne's family straighten in response to the sounds from the room, joyful and expectant looks on their faces, but before he could process what was happening, he heard Anne cry out again, more loudly than she had before, a cry of unbearable agony, and then there was a flurry of panicked movement.

He ran into the room, and was by Anne's side in moments, slipping one arm under her shoulders and taking her hand in his, squeezing it encouragingly. Her face was pale and drawn with pain. One of her ladies must have braided her hair when her labour began, in order to keep it out of her eyes, but half of it had fallen free by now, loosened by her exertion, and it clung to her face in sweat-soaked tendrils. "What's wrong?" He demanded of Mistress Porter, without looking at her. He only had eyes and ears for Anne. He winced involuntarily as her grip on his hand tightened painfully but he wouldn't pull away from her. He could see that the muscles in her belly were tight with the effort of pushing their child into the world.

Mistress Porter scarcely spared him a glance, evidently deeming it a waste of time to try to send him out of the room and focusing her attention on Anne.

"You need to push for me, Your Majesty," she instructed briskly, massaging the swell of Anne's belly gently. "I can see the head crowning... the little one has a fine head of dark hair."

Anne didn't respond to Mistress Porter's words, and she barely seemed to notice that Henry was by her side. She instinctively pushed, trying to force her muscles to expel the child in her womb. She gasped for breath, aware that somebody was gently sponging her forehead with a damp cloth. With a final push, one that seemed to take all her strength, her baby was pushed out into the world and into Mistress Porter's waiting hands, and a second, indignant wail filled the room.

"You have a fine little daughter, Your Majesty... Your Majesties," Mistress Porter amended, with a glance at Henry. She sighed inwardly, hoping that, if it became known that the King was present when the Queen gave birth to their latest child, it would not inspire other men to follow his example. To her mind, men were nothing but a nuisance in a birthing chamber. She had no desire to deal with a fretting husband in her future deliveries, and she was certain that other women felt the same way. Men were happy to get their wives with child, and especially delighted when they were presented with strong sons, but in her experience, they were all squeamish when it came to childbirth, even those who thought themselves strong and brave.

"A new princess for England." Henry said, awed, as Mistress Porter lifted the crying baby, wrapped in the finest linen, up so that he could see her. He had never before seen one of his children just after their birth, before the women could wash them and make them presentable but, despite the smears of blood and other fluids he could not identify, he thought that he had never seen as awe-inspiring a sight as that of his new daughter in the minute of her birth.

She was the most beautiful baby he had ever seen, and was already so like Anne that the resemblance was unmistakeable. He was thrilled that his new daughter was like her mother.

He leaned forward to kiss Anne, hugging her to him as gently as he could, not wanting to hurt her. She was limp in his arms, exhausted, but she gave him a tired smile.

"You're the bravest person I know." He told her, meaning every word of it.

It took several moments before his mind caught up with him, and he remembered what he heard before Anne's renewed cries prompted him to run to her side.

"I heard a baby cry... before our daughter was born..."

"That you did," Mistress Porter agreed, beckoning Lady Culpepper forward with an imperious finger. Lady Culpepper held another baby in her arms, and she was clearly doing her best to remember that, as a matron, she should behave with dignity and not giggle over the fact that the bundle she cradled had gone unnoticed until now. "Your new daughter has an older brother."

"Two of them." Henry's mouth was agape, and he could only stare at the second baby.

"A boy and a girl." Mistress Porter confirmed, passing the baby girl in her arms off to Lady Mary Stafford and directing her to wash her and wrap her well.

It took Henry a few minutes to recover from the shock and for his head to clear and, when it did, he could see that Lady Culpepper's efforts to keep from giggling had failed, and that several other ladies were struggling to hide smiles, clearly finding his confusion very amusing.

Outside the room, he could hear the sounds of jubilation, which let him know that his wife's family had been told the good news, and that they were celebrating it.

He would have to give orders for bells to be rung in celebration of this miracle.

"Are they laughing at me?" He asked Anne. Although he could see the funny side, he couldn't resist giving the giggling ladies a little scare, and he hoped that he was successful in concealing his amusement and keeping his voice gruff, so that they would think that he was truly offended by the idea of any jesting at his expense. "Are your ladies laughing at their King?"

"Yes," Anne agreed, amusement lighting up her eyes. "And you deserve it."

"True." Henry agreed, pressing kisses to her forehead, cheek and lips, thinking that he must have looked foolish indeed to be so caught up in the flurry of activity around Anne that he couldn't recognise that he had heard a baby cry before he entered. One day, it would be a funny story to tell their new children... their twins. He could scarcely believe that, after over five childless years since Harry's arrival, they were now doubly blessed. "Thank you, sweetheart." He kissed her again. "I don't know how to repay you for this."

"You don't need to repay me." Anne insisted. "I'm as happy about them as you are!"

Mistress Porter bustled forward to address Henry. "If you'll excuse us, Your Majesty, I'm sure that Her Majesty would like to wash, and change into a clean nightgown. We also need to change the bedding." The babies were clean now, and wrapped in fine coverings, so it would not do to allow their mother to hold them and get them dirty. Anne nodded fervently in response to her words, clearly reminded of the fact that she was sticky with sweat and blood, while the bed she was lying in was in a sorry state. The linens would probably need to be thrown away. There was little hope that the laundresses would be able to restore them to their original spotless state.

"Go ahead." Henry invited, helping Anne sit up and then moving her pillows to support her but having no intention of leaving the room. When he saw Mistress Porter hesitate, her lips becoming so thin that her mouth was almost like a line in her face, he gave her an impish smile. "I can assure you, Mistress Porter, that it's nothing I haven't seen before."

She probably would have liked to argue, but she knew better.

Within ten minutes, Anne was washed, her hair rebraided and she was dressed in a clean nightgown. Mistress Porter handed her a tonic for the pain and, for once, Anne downed it without the slightest hesitation or reluctance. The bed coverings were stripped, and bundled up to be washed, and the bed was remade with fine linen sheets and silk coverlets. Henry helped Anne back into bed, arranging the pillows so that she could sit comfortably, ready to receive their children.

The boy was slightly larger than the girl. His eyes were blue, and Henry was sure that the expression in them was intelligent. His hair was very fair, and he already had a lot of it. The ladies had smoothed it down when they washed him but wisps of it still stuck up around his head. His tiny hand wrapped around Henry's finger in a strong grip when it was offered to him, and he didn't seem to have any intention of letting go any time soon. It was with some difficulty that Henry was able to free his finger so that he could pass the baby boy to Anne for her to hold.

The girl was a tiny, perfect little bundle, nestling contentedly in Henry's arms as soon as she was handed to him. Her dark hair was fine and soft, with a silky sheen. She had her mother's eyes. Her skin was petal-soft, with a faint pink flush to her dimpled cheeks.

"She's a perfect Tudor rose." Henry declared, smiling adoringly at her as she dozed off in his arms. "And our son is already a handsome young man."

"What should we call them?" Anne asked.

They had discussed names before and, while Henry was adamant that a daughter was to be named for her, they had not agreed on a name if they had a son. She thought that they were both reluctant to settle on a name for a boy, in case they allowed themselves to create too clear a picture of what their son would be like if they gave him a name, and that they might feel a twinge of disappointment if a daughter came in place of the son they imagined.

"Our little princess is Anne," Henry insisted without hesitation. "Though we may need to come up with a nickname for her," he added, remembering Harry's birth, and Elizabeth's concerns that her father and baby brother might be mixed up if they shared a name. He wasn't sure what nickname could be given to the tiny rosebud in his arms, given that Anne's niece and one of her ladies-in-waiting had already claimed Annie and Nan, but he was sure that they would come up with something. "And as far as our son is concerned, considering the trouble he helped caused you, I think that you should be the one to name him, sweetheart."

Anne bit her lower lip in concentration as she looked down on her son, wondering what name she could give him.

She might have chosen George, in honour of both her brother and the saint, but Henry's words about finding a nickname for baby Anne led her to try to come up with a suitable nickname that would be used to distinguish her son from his uncle, and she couldn't think of anything she liked. Even if George had not already used Thomas for his son, she knew that she would rather not name her new son after her father but if she chose to name him after William Stafford instead, her father would never forgive her for the perceived insult. When she was carrying Elizabeth, she knew that Henry favoured the name Edward, if their son was not to be named after himself, but it would be unfair to little Lord Edward if one of his new siblings usurped his name.

"Geoffrey." She said at last, settling on her great-grandfather's name. It was he who had helped the Boleyn family rise from obscurity to prominence, and his name was not one that was already used within her close family. It was also not a name that was common among English princes.

"Geoffrey." Henry tested the name. "Prince Geoffrey, Duke of York. I think it's got a ring to it."

"So do I." Anne agreed, smiling down at Geoffrey, who burbled in return. "I think he likes it."

"Geoffrey it is, then." Cradling baby Anne carefully in one arm, Henry lay down on the bed next to Anne, so that the babies could be held close to one another.

Anne's male relatives were permitted a brief visit to the room but Henry scarcely heard their congratulations. He gave orders for the bells to be rung, and for appropriate celebrations in honour of the births of England's new prince and princess, but he had no desire to join in the festivities, not if it meant leaving Anne's side.

All he wanted was to be with her and their new babies.

* * *

**_18th February 1542_ **

Although Elizabeth was very excited to have been chosen as her new baby brother's godmother, she knew that the christening was a very solemn occasion and that, as one of the godparents, it was very important for her to behave appropriately. It was a very important, very grown-up job and she needed to let everybody see that she was old enough to take on this special responsibility, even though she was only eight. Kat explained to her that being Geoffrey's godmother meant that she should take special care of him, and make sure that he learned all he needed to know about God and that he said his prayers as he ought to. She was to help him grow up to be a virtuous boy, one who loved God and who followed His commandments as he ought to.

It would be a big job but she was determined to do it properly.

She was a little put-out to learn that she was not to be Geoffrey's most important godparent.

As soon as the twins were born, her Papa sent a messenger riding to Scotland to ask the King of Scots if he would be Geoff's godfather, and the Queen of Scots if she would be the new princess' godmother. They both accepted so the Scottish ambassador carried Geoffrey in the christening procession, and another Scottish lord carried baby Anne, acting as the Queen's proxy.

Kat had told her that her Papa the King wanted the King and Queen of Scots to be godparents to the twins because, when they had a baby, a Scottish princess could be betrothed to Geoff or else a prince might marry Anne one day, so that she could be Queen there.

Uncle George was Geoffrey's other godfather, while the Duke of Norfolk was Anne's godfather and Nan Saville was her other godmother.

Harry was very cross when Lady Bryan told him that he was not to be godfather to one of the babies, even though she tried to explain to him that, because he was not yet seven and had not yet reached the age of reason, he was too young for the job. Instead, Papa and Mama said that he might carry the chrism cloth for one of the babies and he chose their new sister, reasoning that it wouldn't be fair to her if Geoffrey had Elizabeth for his godmother and Harry to carry his chrism. She might think they liked Geoffrey more if neither of them had a special job for her christening.

Their cousin Nell was going to carry Geoffrey's chrism cloth.

Papa and Mama were not to attend the christening.

Kat explained that her Mama was not yet well enough to be out of bed and that it was traditional for the King not to be present for a christening. He had not attended Elizabeth's christening, or even Harry's. At a christening, the godparents were the important ones, and the babies being christened, of course, and the King didn't want to take all the attention away from them.

With two babies being christened, there were a lot of people in the procession.

All of the children from Eltham were to be present for the christening, even those who did not have a special job. Before the babies were born, Mama sent cloth merchants and tailors and seamstresses to Eltham, telling them to make sure that every child there would have a beautiful gown or a fine suit to wear for the christening, and for the celebrations afterwards. Because Elizabeth and Harry were royal children, their new clothes were the finest of all, but she thought that they all looked very grand today.

Even Kat and Lady Bryan and the other nursery attendants were wearing their best clothes.

The Lady Mary was not present.

Although not even Kat, who was usually very good at explaining things when Lady Bryan wouldn't tell her anything, would tell her why her half-sister was absent, Elizabeth had sharp ears and she had heard some of her maidservants whispering that the Lady Mary had had a baby just a few days before the twins were born. The maidservants thought that it was very disgraceful for Mary to have a baby, since she had no husband but Elizabeth was pleased to be an aunt. It was almost as grown-up as being godmother. It was especially funny to think that the twins were aunt and uncle to the Lady Mary's new daughter, as they were even younger than she was.

She reminded herself to have Kat help her embroider a cap for her new niece. She didn't like sewing very much, preferring her other lessons and things like dancing and riding her horse to spending hours practicing her needlework but she thought that an aunt should give gifts to her niece. Aunt Mary often sent little gifts for her and for Harry, and she wanted to be as good and kind an aunt to the Lady Mary's new baby as Aunt Mary was to her.

They were all to line up in the correct order before the procession made its way to the Chapel Royal.

Harry was to walk at the very head of the procession, since he was the Prince of Wales and since he was carrying one of the chrism cloths, both of which meant that he had to lead the way. Elizabeth was to walk by his side, since she wasn't going to be carrying Geoffrey.

Nell would come just behind them, carrying the other chrism, but because she was still very young and because this was her first time wearing a proper court gown with a proper train, she couldn't manage her train when she had her hands full with the chrism, so the Duke of Suffolk was to carry her. Neither of them was very happy about that; Nell didn't want to have to be carried, even though Grandpapa had carried Elizabeth when she carried the chrism cloth for Harry's christening, and even though the Duke of Suffolk didn't complain, Elizabeth saw him frown when he heard that Papa wanted him to carry Nell. Nell stopped complaining when she saw that, carried in the Duke's arms, she would be able to see much more of what was happening than she would if she walked.

After them would come Geoffrey, carried by the Scottish ambassador and with a canopy held above him, carried by four gentlemen, and then Anne, carried by the Scottish lord and under a canopy of her own. The other godparents would walk behind them, then Kat, Lady Bryan and the other children, with the rest of the courtiers following after them.

The christening ceremony was not a very long one.

Elizabeth was word-perfect when she recited the vows and she was relieved to see first Geoffrey and then Anne cry out as Archbishop Cranmer poured the water over their heads, as it meant that the Devil was driven out of them and would not be able to harm or influence them anymore.

The garter king of arms marched in front of the procession as they made their way out of the Chapel Royal, with the babies carried immediately behind him, calling out:

"God, of His Almighty and infinite grace, give and grant good life and long to the right high, right excellent and noble Prince Geoffrey, Duke of York, dear and entirely beloved son of our most dread and gracious lord, King Henry the Eighth, and to the high and mighty Princess of England, Anne!"

Mama and Papa were waiting for them in Mama's bedchamber and, once the babies were handed to Mama, who had to cradle them very carefully to manage holding them both, and the courtiers had made their obeisance and withdrew, Harry ran over to the bed, climbing up next to Mama and beaming down at the babies in her arms. Elizabeth didn't run over to the bed and she didn't climb on it, she was too big for that now. Instead, she walked over in a dignified manner, as a princess ought to, and curtsied gracefully before taking her place to stand by Papa's side.

"They're very pretty babies, Mama." He told her, thinking that, if he had to share his Mama and his Papa with two new babies instead of just one, it was good that they seemed like such nice babies. Lady Bryan had warned him that they might seem red and wrinkled and ugly at first, and that they wouldn't be do much apart from sleep and cry until they were bigger, but they were plump and pretty and they gurgled when they saw him instead of crying. He was also quite pleased to have a new brother and a new sister, instead of two brothers or two sisters, since it meant that he didn't have to decide which one he would rather have, and feel sad if he didn't get the one he wanted. It also meant that there were now two princes in England, and two princesses.

If you counted Edward and the Lady Mary, Papa now had three sons and three daughters.

That was a nice big family.

"They are, indeed." Papa said heartily, reaching out to ruffle his hair and to pat Elizabeth's cheek before he lifted the baby girl out of Mama's arms, and cuddled her close. "Geoffrey will be as handsome as Harry one day, and our little Tudor rose will be as beautiful as Elizabeth – won't you, my rose?" He smiled down at the baby, who gurgled her assent.

"Rose would be a good name for her, Papa." Harry piped up. Although his new sister was christened Anne for Mama, there were already so many Annes that he thought she needed a nickname of her own, like Harry was his nickname so people didn't get him and Papa muddled. She was beautiful and pink, like a rose, and he didn't know of any other lady at court who was named Rose, so the name would be all her own. When she was bigger, she would know that her big brother had chosen her nickname for her, and he hoped that she would like it very much.

Papa's smile was as wide as Harry had ever seen it.

"What a clever idea, Harry," he said. "Our Princess Rose."

* * *

The children stayed with them until it was time for the noon meal.

When Lady Bryan and Mistress Champernowne arrived to escort Harry and Elizabeth to the nursery, where they could wash and change their clothes, and then to the Great Hall for the feast in honour of the christening, where they would act as hosts in their parents' absence, they left readily enough, a little reluctant to leave their parents and the babies but excited by the thought of presiding over the feast. It was good practice for them to grow accustomed to dining in state before the court without their parents.

The twins' cradles were to be kept in Anne's bedchamber until she emerged from confinement in just under six weeks time, and their nurses settled them for their naps before withdrawing.

"As soon as you're feeling better, we'll stage the greatest celebrations England has seen since your coronation." Henry promised.

When Elizabeth was born, the joust and masques he had intended to stage to mark the birth of his first legitimate son were cancelled in favour of the more subdued celebrations appropriate for the birth of a princess – though he had seen to it that nobody could possibly claim that Elizabeth's arrival was celebrated with less pomp than the Lady Mary's, in case they tried to claim that he loved Anne's daughter less – and, while the celebrations in honour of Harry's arrival were lavish, as befitted the arrival of a future King of England, he intended that those in honour of the twins would be equally grand. It was very rare for twins to be born into a royal family, and he wanted to make sure that nobody would be able to forget the festivities that marked their arrival.

"Will we have a joust?" Anne asked, thinking that, if there was, Elizabeth and Harry would be overjoyed... though Harry's joy might be tempered with disappointment over the fact that he was not yet old enough to be allowed to joust. The riding master engaged to teach the children at Eltham reported that Harry was a very eager equestrian, longing for the day when he would be old enough to ride in jousts and hunts with the grown lords but she knew that she certainly wasn't ready to see her young son take part in dangerous pastimes.

"Of course, sweetheart," Henry promised, "and I thought that I should knight a few of the gentlemen of the court, and maybe raise somebody to the peerage... two people." He amended, thinking that it was appropriate to create two new lords to mark the births of two new royal children. He kissed Anne. "Your choice, my darling. Name the men, and they will have titles."

"Me?" Anne was startled by this.

Her father was created Duke of Wiltshire in honour of Harry's birth, and while she knew that Henry had hoped to please her by doing so, he had not consulted her before deciding to further ennoble her father. The decision to grant his young nephew, Edward Brandon, an earldom in his own right was also not one he discussed with her. She had anticipated that, if she gave him another son, he would mark the new prince's arrival by dispensing honours to favoured courtiers but she didn't expect that it would be left to her to decide who was to be honoured.

"You," Henry confirmed. "You're the one who brought our children into the world, after all."

The first choice was an easy one.

"My sister's husband, Will." She knew that Mary had not cared that William was a man of low standing and little fortune when she married him. She loved him, and chose love over riches and a title. However, that didn't mean that Anne didn't want her sister to have it all and, now that she was presented with the opportunity to secure it for her, she didn't hesitate to take it.

"Of course," Henry agreed, thinking that, even if he hadn't decided to leave the choice in Anne's hands, her brother-in-law would have been among those he chose to honour. Will Stafford was a good man, a man who loved his wife and daughter and who, despite his connection with the royal family, and with two of the most powerful noble families in England, was refreshingly humble. He would not be sorry to see such a good man raised to the peerage, or to see little Annie Stafford enjoy the benefits of being the daughter of a peer of the realm rather than a knight. "Who else?"

If she could, she would have loved to name Charles Howard but she knew that, however pleased he might be over the birth of the twins, Henry would not be prepared to go so far. If she could persuade him to allow him to return to England safely, to marry Mary and to be a father to little Katherine, it would have to be enough, at least for now, until Henry could be persuaded to soften.

"Lord Edward Fitzroy." She said instead, thinking that, if she couldn't help her stepdaughter, she at least had the power to do something for her stepson. "Your son."

"Anne..." For a couple of minutes, Henry could only say her name and stare at her, half-thinking that his ears might be deceiving him.

Although Katherine had never complained to him about his decision to raise young Henry Fitzroy to the peerage, it was no secret that she was dismayed and angered when she learned of the toddler's elevation as Duke of Richmond and Somerset, fearing for Mary's position as heir to the throne and thinking such titles too grand for a bastard by far. Even if Anne had not been so distressed when she learned of Edward's birth, he knew that he could never have hurt her by treating his son by Mistress Seymour with the same degree of honour that he had his son by Lady Blount. Now Anne was the one advocating that little Edward should be honoured, choosing him rather than asking that her little nephew be made a peer in his own right, or one of her cousins.

Every time he thought that she couldn't make him love her any more than he already did, she found a way to prove him wrong.

"Are you certain, sweetheart?" He asked. "You don't need to choose Edward to please me, I promise." He hoped that Anne didn't think that he had left the choice in her hands as a test of sorts, expecting her to choose his son to please him. If she didn't truly want the boy to be made a peer, the courtesy title of Lord would be good enough for him. He wouldn't be sorry to grant the child a minor peerage, if Anne was pleased for him to do so, but she had already been more accepting of the child than any woman could reasonably be expected to be about her husband's bastard and he could never ask any more from her.

"I'm certain. He's your son."

"What about his mother? Are you certain that you can bear to have her at court?"

Jane's presence at her son's ennoblement was not essential but Henry knew that, if young Edward's Seymour kin, his mother in particular, were not permitted to be present at the ceremony, it would undoubtedly lead to gossip that Anne still had cause to feel threatened, and he didn't want anybody to come to such a false conclusion, any more than he wanted Anne to worry that Jane might catch his eye again, that the sight of her might lead him to regret that he had banished her from his life all those years ago or that he might even be such a fool as to want to have her for his mistress. As well as that, Edward would surely want his mother to be present for his special day, and would be upset if she was barred from the ceremony.

Anne nodded firmly. "It will only be for a day or two." She pointed out. "Then she'll be gone again, back to wherever it is she lives now." She knew that a husband had been found for Mistress Seymour, and that Henry had contributed a dowry so that the mother of his son could make a respectable match, but she had no idea where she was living now, or what manner of man she married. "I'm sure that Edward would like to see her there."

"If you're sure that's what you want..."

"It is," Anne said firmly, her tone leaving him in no doubt that she meant what she said. She slipped her hand into his, squeezing it lightly. "There's one more favour I would ask of you."

"Name it, sweetheart." Henry didn't think that he would be able to deny her anything after this.

"Let Charles Howard to return to England, let him marry Mary and let them leave court to live quietly together in the country. She and her child need him, and they're no threat to us now." By now, all of Christendom must know that Mary's child was born out of wedlock. Whatever support Mary might have had, if she wished to make a bid for the throne, was gone, and there was no way that anybody would champion baby Katherine as heiress to the throne ahead of Harry, and their other children. "The baby is your granddaughter, Henry, your first grandchild."

"She's a bastard, and so is her mother." Henry stated gruffly. He had no desire to quarrel with Anne on this matter, or any other but he wished that she could have chosen something else, something that he could grant her with a happy heart, instead of asking this of him.

"But she still has your blood in her veins, as much of your blood as Harry's children will." When Harry grew to manhood, married and fathered children, those children would be princes and princesses of England, and one of them would rule over the country one day. Little Katherine Fitzhoward might be destined to a life of obscurity, and marriage to an English lord if she was fortunate and they could dower her well enough to make a good match, but that didn't make her any less Henry's grandchild than the cousin who would one day be King. "Any child with your blood in their veins deserves to be honoured for it, whatever the circumstances of their birth."

Her words appealed to his pride, she could see that much.

Royal blood, Tudor blood was sacred to him and it was undeniable that it flowed through baby Katherine's tiny veins. She was the granddaughter of one King, and the niece of a future King and, although it would be unwise to stress the fact too much to Henry, she could count three sovereigns among her great-grandparents. That had to be worth something to him.

"Just visit her, Henry, for my sake if not for hers and Mary's," Anne pleaded, seeing his resolve against his granddaughter waver slightly, and pressing her advantage. "I've seen her, and she's such a beautiful baby. She looks like your mother, she's fair like her, and like Geoffrey."

"Not like Katherine?" He didn't think that he could bear to look at a baby who resembled Katherine. It was no surprise that Mary, who loved her mother dearly and who was so devoted to her memory, would choose to name her daughter after her, and he didn't condemn her for it. If anything, he thought that he would have taken it as an insult if Mary had chosen to give her child the name of his wife, his mother or his sister, and hated her for her presumption.

"Not at all," Anne insisted, hoping that, if he saw the child, Henry wouldn't be able to discern some likeness that she might have missed. He had known Katherine in her youth, after all, whereas she had only known her in her later years, after her looks had faded. "Will you see her? Just once?" She was certain that once would be enough. "I'll make arrangements for Mary and the baby, I promise." She added, thinking that it would touch Henry's pride if he had to discuss suitable provisions for his daughter and illegitimate grandchild with others. "Just visit them, please."

Henry badly wanted to say 'no' but the sight of the pleading expression in Anne's eyes would not allow him to.

"One short visit." He said, not wanting to meet her eyes in case she coaxed him into making further concessions, against his better judgement, when she had him ready to do her bidding. Before she could ask anything else of him, he rose to his feet, kissed her and left the room, thinking that, if he must do this, he wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.

As a lady-in-waiting in Anne's service, Mary's apartment was not far from hers and, despite her disgrace, she was not required to surrender the comfortable accommodation Anne had arranged for her when she first joined her service so that she could move to humbler lodgings.

There were few servants in the corridor as he approached Mary's apartment, and when he knocked on the door, her maid opened it, curtseying deeply at the sight of him before stepping back to usher him into the room.

"Your Majesty." She greeted him politely. "Shall I tell the Lady Mary that you are here."

"Don't bother." Henry told her brusquely, pushing past her to cross through the large, well-appointed room that Mary used as a sitting room and dining chamber and entering the bedchamber.

Mary was sitting up in bed, propped by pillows, and cradling her daughter in her arms. She instinctively clutched the baby closer to her when he entered, as though she thought that he had come to snatch the brat away, and, while she couldn't rise from her bed to curtsey to him, she bowed her head respectfully as she murmured a greeted, addressing him by the formal 'Your Majesty' rather than as 'Father', not daring to be informal with him after all that had transpired.

"Daughter." Henry's greeting was cool but not unkind. "I trust that you are recovering well?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." Mary nodded, wondering if he was about to command her to resume her duties in Anne's household as soon as she was strong enough, or if he had something else in mind for her. Whatever it was, she could bear it, as long as she could have Katherine with her. As long as he had not come to tell her that it was his wish that her baby should be turned over to the care of strangers to be reared, she could accept whatever he had planned for her. "I thank Your Majesty for your kind concern for my health."

As far as he was concerned, it was more than she had a right to expect from him but he refrained from saying so. Instead, he merely nodded by way of response, and then moved closer to the bed, leaning forward slightly to inspect the baby in his daughter's arms.

"The Queen told me that your daughter was beautiful. I see that she did not exaggerate." Despite himself, Henry couldn't keep from smiling slightly when baby Katherine gazed up at him with curious light blue eyes, his mother's eyes. How could he be expected to harden his heart against a child with the eyes of Elizabeth of York, the lady he had so revered as mother and Queen?

"Thank you, Your Majesty." The tension Mary felt eased slightly but she didn't lower her guard.

"When the Queen, your kind stepmother, has recovered from childbirth, and is churched, we will be holding celebrations in honour of England's new prince and princess," Henry told her. "As part of those celebrations, the Queen's brother-in-law, Sir William Stafford, and my son will be granted titles of nobility, at the Queen's request. It is my wish that you be present for the occasion."

He waited to hear if Mary would protest, if she would plead to be spared the shame of appearing before the court when they all knew that she was the mother of a bastard child and would surely look down on her for it but she didn't try to avoid it, and simply nodded her assent. He respected her more for it, glad to see that she recognized that she had erred but didn't seek to pretend that she was not shamed. Perhaps she had learned her lesson and, if that was the case, he decided that there could be no real harm in showing her a little mercy.

Anne would want him to be kind to Mary now and, for her, he would do it.

"The Queen has asked that the Howard boy be permitted to return to England and it is her wish and mine that he marry you, and make an honest woman of you. As he took your maidenhead, it is no more than his duty to stand by you, and by your child. The Queen has offered to make arrangements to see to it that you are provided for. I hope that you are grateful for her kindness."

Mary nodded fervently. "I am, Your Majesty. Queen Anne has been very kind to me." Kinder than Mary would ever have believed possible a few years ago and, though she hated to admit it, kinder than her mother was likely to have been to Elizabeth, had she been the one in this position. She didn't take such kindness for granted.

"As for your daughter..." He hesitated, unsure what he wanted to do next. He knew that Anne wanted him to be kind to the child, and to honour her for the royal blood in her veins but he also knew that he could not shame himself or his royal house by welcoming a bastard granddaughter, particularly one born of his daughter rather than his son, too warmly. Baby Katherine was watching him curiously, as though she knew that her fate was being decided and wanted to know what plans he had for her. "The child is illegitimate, as you are, but she has my blood in her veins, and the Queen reminded me that she deserves to be honoured for that fact. She may be known as the Lady Katherine Fitzhoward, since she is the granddaughter of a King."

It could do no harm to allow the infant to bear the courtesy title of Lady during her childhood and, when the time came, there would surely be some nobleman who would be prepared to accept her as a bride in exchange for a generous dowry. She was a girl, and would one day take her status from her husband. It would have been more complicated if Mary had borne a son.

Even for Anne, he couldn't bring himself to grant a peerage to a bastard grandson by Mary.

Mary felt tears well up in her eyes.

When Thomas Boleyn, then an earl rather than a duke, visited her at Ludlow Castle to inform her that Archbishop Cranmer had taken it upon himself to pronounce her parents' marriage null and void, usurping authority that belonged to the Holy Father, she was angry and devastated to be told that, as far as her father was concerned, she had no right to the title of Princess and was to be known to all as Lady Mary. At Hatfield, she refused to answer to the hated title and insisted that she was the true Princess of England, not Elizabeth, and she tried to do the same at the More. When she finally took the Oath, swearing that she accepted that she was not the Princess of Wales, not the true legitimate heiress to the throne, but merely the Lady Mary, the King's bastard daughter, fortunate to be recognized by her father and allowed some small degree of honour, she felt as though she was betraying both her mother and herself.

Now, she was truly grateful to her father for allowing her daughter the title of Lady, and grateful to Anne for being the one to prompt him to soften towards them.

Too overcome to speak, she could only smile her gratitude at her father. He said little more to her, save to wish her a speedy recovery, before he hastily withdrew from the room, leaving Mary alone with her baby daughter, who nestled into her arms, lulled by the sound of her heartbeat.

"Your papa will be home soon," Mary whispered, hoping that it wouldn't take long for her father's messenger to reach Charles, and to arrange for his passage back to England. "He's a good man and he's going to love you so much, I promise you that. We're going to be a family, together."

If baby Katherine's gurgles were any indication, the prospect pleased her very much.

* * *

**_27th March 1542_ **

"Sir William Stafford!"

As soon as the garter king at arms called his name, Will Stafford entered the King's presence chamber, resplendent in a new suit of black velvet embroidered in gold thread. He wore a heavy mantle of crimson velvet, trimmed with ermine around his shoulders. He met his wife's eyes as he made his way through the assembled courtiers, who cleared a path to the dais and to the thrones on which the King and Queen sat, with smaller thrones by their parents' sides for Prince Harry and Princess Elizabeth. The pride in Mary's eyes as she watched him was unmistakeable. He was sure that even his father-in-law, who was still not reconciled to his inclusion in the Boleyn family and preferred to ignore him whenever possible, was not displeased to see him raised to the peerage.

Maybe now he would be more willing to acknowledge that Will was his son by marriage.

Little Tommy – or Viscount Rochford, to give the child his proper title – was the only member of the family who was not present today. Even the infant prince and princess in whose honour today's festivities were being staged were present, cradled in the arms of nursemaids who stood to one side of the dais with their precious charges. He could see that, as usual, Nell had commanded George to lift her up so that she could see properly, and George had complied with her wishes, either not noticing or not caring about the attention he attracted as he stood there, in his ceremonial robes and coronet, balancing his little daughter in his arms. Annie stood next to Mary, clutching her mother's hand and beaming up at her father.

Once he reached the foot of the dais, he knelt in front of it, as he had when he was knighted five years ago, in honour of Prince Harry's birth. That had been an unlooked-for honour in itself, and he had not dreamed that a day would come when he would be granted a higher title.

"Sir William Stafford, you are, by order and permission of His Majesty King Henry the Eighth, today created Earl of Essex." Sir Thomas Audley announced solemnly.

Henry rose from his throne, standing in front of Will. He accepted the earl's coronet from a page and set it on Will's head, and handed him the finely wrought sword commissioned in honour of the occasion. Once Will had accepted the sword, Henry took the patent of nobility from Audley and presented it to him, and a second patent granting the new Earl of Essex lands worth a thousand pounds a year, to maintain the dignity of his new rank. As Annie – now the Lady Anne Stafford – looked likely to be her parents' only child, a special clause was included in the patent of nobility at his command, directing that, in the absence of a legitimate male heir, Annie and her male heirs would inherit the earldom and estates, so the title would not become extinct in one generation.

"Arise, Lord Essex." He commanded, kissing Will on each cheek.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Will bowed deeply, scarcely able to believe that he, who was nothing but a common soldier a few short years ago, could now call himself an earl. He was delighted that, through his ennoblement, Mary was now a countess. Although she never complained about it, his one regret about marrying her was that she had suffered a loss of standing through their union.

He stepped to the side, joining the assembled peers to watch the second ceremony.

"Lord Edward Fitzroy!" The garter king at arms called out.

The little boy was clearly awed by the situation, though Lady Bryan had taken pains to ensure that he was familiar with every step of the ritual, so that he didn't make any mistakes, which would be unlucky. A fine new suit had been made for him in honour of the occasion, and like Will, he wore a mantle trimmed with ermine, though his train was much shorter and more manageable.

Both Lady Bryan and Mistress Jones stressed that it was a very great honour and a sign of the love the King bore him that he was to be given a special title, and that he must behave very, very well, so that all of the lords and ladies who were present for the ceremony could see that he was worthy of such a great honour, and so that his Mama would be proud of him.

His Mama was here today, with her husband Sir William, and with Sir William's three children.

After the ceremony, he wanted to introduce Sir William's children to Harry and Elizabeth, since they were his brother and sisters by marriage. The twins were probably too little.

Jane, Lady Herbert watched with pride as her young son walked past her. Edward didn't smile at her but she didn't mind, knowing that he must have been instructed to behave with the dignity appropriate to such a solemn occasion, and not to allow himself to become distracted. For today, he had to behave like a courtier rather than like a small boy of five years. He had grown since she last saw him, and his pale blonde hair had darkened somewhat, and begun to grow curly. He was going to be a very handsome man one day, she was sure of that.

She glanced up at Anne, wondering what the woman she once counted as her rival must be thinking as she watched the King honour his son by another woman, knowing that she had been unable to keep a father's love for his son from winning out, even if that son was born out of wedlock to another woman, while the son she gave him was called Prince of Wales. The King had ignored Edward for too long for Anne's sake, just as he had not contacted Jane for fear of exciting Anne's jealousy. Even when Edward came to live at Eltham Palace with his half-siblings, the King must have felt that he needed to tread carefully rather than lavishing Edward with all of the affection that he must surely have felt for the son born of the love he and Jane shared.

Now, at last, he knew that he could no longer allow himself to be persuaded to neglect Edward for Anne's sake, and he was ready to honour his son before the whole court, as he ought to.

Edward knelt in front of his father, looking up at him with wide blue eyes.

"Edward Fitzroy, you are, by order and permission of His Majesty King Henry the Eighth, today created Viscount Beauchamp of Hache." Audley intoned.

Only a great effort on her part, coupled with her awareness that this was a special day for Edward and that she shouldn't spoil it, allowed Jane to maintain her self control when she heard this.

Viscount?

Jane could scarcely believe her ears.

The King's son by Lady Blount was made a duke twice over, and an earl besides, becoming the first lord in England, second only to the King. William Stafford, a man of low birth whose only claim to royal favour was that he was married to Anne's sister, was granted the more prestigious title of Earl of Essex. Surely Edward deserved more than to be created Viscount Beauchamp of Hache.

She could only think of one reason why, when he had the opportunity to show how much he honoured their son, and the power to bestow any title of nobility, the King would only allow him the title of viscount instead of making him a duke or a marquess, or an earl at the very least.

How could she have been so foolish as to allow herself to believe that Anne's influence had waned?

Of course the King wasn't going to deliberately antagonise her, not when she had just borne him two children in a single birth, one of them a second son. He must be delighted to be a father again, and he must think that Anne needed to be treated especially gently, as she was past thirty and had endured a doubly difficult labour. She should probably be thankful that the King was prepared to brave Anne's wrath by giving Edward a title at all, even if he felt that he needed to ensure that Anne's brother-in-law was granted a greater honour, to reassure her that she didn't need to worry that his love for Edward could ever be a threat to the positions of their children.

Because of Anne, Edward was denied the opportunity to be born in wedlock.

If she had not enticed the King away from Queen Katherine years ago, or if she had consented to be his mistress, rather than refusing to yield to him until he offered her marriage in order to satisfy her ambition and that of her family, he would have stayed married to Queen Katherine until the end of her days, sparing a noble lady the suffering she endured because of Anne.

When he met Jane, and fell in love with her, he would have been a widower and free to make her his wife and Queen. When Edward was born, he would have been Prince of Wales, and welcomed as such by the English people. Jane was sure that even Princess Mary would have been happy to welcome Edward, never resenting him for becoming heir to the throne by virtue of his sex.

Instead, Anne had to spoil everything for them.

Instead, Anne's children were feted as England's princes and princesses, their places as heirs to the throne secured by oath, while Jane's son was regarded as a bastard, allowed only the title of Viscount because Anne couldn't bear for him to be allowed greater honours, while poor Princess Mary was neglected, and forced to act as a lady-in-waiting in Anne's household instead of having an establishment of her own, as she ought to, and a splendid marriage arranged for her.

Had the King married Jane, shewould have seen to it that a suitable match was arranged for Mary, and made her stepdaughter her concern instead of worrying about the marital prospects of a daughter who was so much younger that her marriage was a matter for future consideration rather than immediate concern. Poor Mary would not be in the position she was now if Anne had had a care for her interests, as a stepmother should, and made it her business to remind the King that it was long past time for his eldest daughter to have a husband and a family of her own.

Shewould have told him that she didn't want Mary to have to serve her, and that while she would be delighted to have Mary at court, she wanted to welcome her there as a friend.

Even the King's bastards by Anne would never have cause to say that she treated them unkindly. She would be willing to allow them to visit the court, so that they might see their father, and she would teach her own children to treat them kindly, without being arrogant about their royal status. If it pleased their father to honour the boys with titles, she would not complain and she would never try to persuade the King to be less generous with them than he was inclined to be.

Anne had no right to be so selfish!

The spite that still clearly existed in Anne's nature was apparent, as Jane was sure that only she would be cruel enough to demand that Princess Mary be present for today's ceremony, despite the fact that the courtiers were whispering about the poor girl's fall from grace behind her back.

While Jane didn't condone Mary's actions, she told herself that it was understandable that she was unhappy and misguided enough to be led into sin – by a cousin of Anne's, if rumours were true – as she had been deprived of the company and guidance of her mother at such a young and vulnerable age, and as the stepmother her father gave her was not a woman who was fit to provide her with sound moral guidance. She was pleased to see that Mary stood with her head held high, refusing to allow herself to crumble in response to Anne's petty gesture or to let people see that she was distressed. Looking at Mary, who wore a rich gown of tawny velvet, anybody who didn't know the story would swear that her position was an honoured one.

After Edward rose, and was kissed by his father, the royal family and the new peers led the way into the banquet but, although places were reserved for her, Sir William and the children at one of the tables immediately below the dais, Jane hung back, hoping for a word with Mary.

She curtseyed to Mary as soon as she came close to her, bowing her head respectfully, and waited until the other courtiers had gone into the Great Hall for the banquet before she spoke to her. "Your Grace." It was not permissible to address Mary as 'Highness' but Jane wanted her to know that she still held her in high esteem. "I was very sorry to hear of your troubles."

"You are very kind, Mistress..." Mary didn't recognize the woman curtseying before her, though there was something vaguely familiar about her. A couple of courtiers had approached her already, offering honeyed words of sympathy or offers to pray for her in her trouble that did a poor job of disguising either their scorn for her or their satisfaction over her fall from grace. She had responded civilly but coldly to their comments, refusing to allow herself to lose her temper and allow them to say that she had the manners of a fishwife, but she was heartily sick of it by now.

"I am Lady Herbert, Your Grace – I was Lady Jane Seymour, before my marriage." Jane said, chiding herself for not making introductions, and for assuming that Princess Mary would know who she was. She felt a bond of kinship with the younger woman, as the half-sister of her precious Edward, as the girl she once hoped to have the privilege of calling her stepdaughter and to see restored to her proper place, and as a fellow victim of Anne's malice, but Princess Mary had never laid eyes on her, and couldn't possibly be expected to know her on sight.

"You are my half-brother's mother."

Mary knew the name well, having heard Chapuys speak of the woman standing before her, all those years ago when the ambassador who was then her most devoted ally sought to hearten her with assurances that Anne's hold on her father's heart was failing, and that it would not be long before he set her aside. Back then, she had looked on Jane as a potential saviour, as the woman whose pure, kind heart would act as an antidote to Anne's poison and allow him to see the truth clearly, at last. She allowed herself to imagine that the Lady Jane Seymour would open her father's eyes and make him see that he had wronged her, and her sainted mother, by setting them aside and that, although her mother's soul was at rest and he couldn't make amends with her, he could reverse the wrongs he committed against Mary by welcoming her back to court as the rightful Princess of England, and into his heart as his most beloved daughter.

It was nothing but a dream, one that could never have come true.

Looking at Lady Herbert now, Mary could see that she was pretty, and that she was probably prettier still in her younger days, but she would never have been able to hold the King's love.

Her father might once have thought that Lady Herbert was a beauty, a gentle lady he could have loved for the rest of his days, but Mary knew better.

The woman before her had had no chance of holding even a small measure of the King's love and attention after Harry was born. Even if Anne had failed to bear a son, and was set aside so that the King might give the English people a Queen Jane, she would never have been able to influence him as Anne did, or to fulfil the promises Chapuys made on her behalf. She might have been sincere in her desire to welcome Mary to court but she would never have been able to persuade the King to spare her the ordeal of taking the Oath, much less to allow her the title of Princess.

"I want you to know that I don't blame you for what happened, Your Grace," Jane continued earnestly. "It was a terrible sin but it would never have happened if you were not so cruelly treated. Lady Anne should have pressed the King to make a splendid match for you, to a worthy prince, instead of keeping you as a lady in her household, and unwed. It was no more than her duty to do so, to my mind, but she's a selfish woman, and very jealous of His Majesty's affections. She cares nothing for anybody but herself and her kin, and if she had her way, she would have the King give all of his love to the children she gave him. I am sure that the King, your father, loves you very much, Your Grace, just as he loves our son, Edward, but that woman has had him under her spell for so long that he is not free to show the love he feels for you."

In a way, it was a relief to be able to openly express her feelings about Anne without having to pretend to respect the woman as her Queen. She spoke quickly and in a hushed tone, so caught up in what she was saying that she didn't notice Mary's face freezing into a hard mask.

"But you must take heart. He'll break free of her one day, mark my words. He's already given my Edward a peerage, though he doesn't dare to give him a title grander than that of viscount yet, for fear of her jealousy. I'm sure that he would have wished to raise him higher, as he did the Duke of Richmond, but he must tread slowly for now and..."

"Be silent." Mary's voice was low but there was a hard edge to it that even Jane could not miss. "You are a fool, Lady Herbert. You have no idea what you are talking about, so it would be wise for you to keep silent until you have better acquainted yourself with the truth of the matter."

"Your Grace..." Jane protested, aghast to hear Princess Mary speak to her thus. She had always heard that the Princess was a gentle, kindly soul, and she was sure that only the harsh treatment Mary had endured at Anne's hand for years had changed her. She was sure that Queen Katherine would weep to know what had become of her beloved daughter.

"Do you know why the King gave your son a peerage today?" Mary asked, not waiting for an answer. "It's because the Queen asked him to. His Majesty wished to celebrate the birth of their twins, and he asked her who she would have him honour. She chose her brother-in-law and your son. Nobody made her do it, and the King would never have asked it of her. The King would never make your child a duke as he did the Duke of Richmond because he doesn't plan to advance him as his heir, not when he has Harry. If you ask Edward, he can tell you that she has always been very kind to him, and she has been kind to me, in my trouble, when those I thought of as my friends avoided me." Although she knew why, it still hurt to know that the Emperor had abandoned her. "She isn't a bad woman."

Jane stared at her, mouth agape as she processed what Mary had said.

She didn't want to believe that Edward owed his new title to Anne but a small, nagging voice in her head insisted on reminding her that, had the King wished to honour their son as she would have liked to see him honoured, he had no need to wait for Anne to bear him another child. He could grant anybody a peerage whenever he wished, but hadn't done so for Edward until now.

She wanted to say something, to refute Mary's words, but she couldn't make a sound.

"If I were you, Lady Herbert, I would be thankful for the recognition your son has been given. This is a special day for Edward, and he must want to see you at the banquet. You may want more for him but he is happy with his new title, and you don't have the right to spoil that for him."

Without saying another word, Mary walked away, in the direction of the banquet.

She didn't need to look back to know that Lady Herbert was following her.

* * *

**_12th May 1542_ **

The royal manor of Hanworth was a palace in miniature, surrounded by beautifully kept gardens.

When Anne promised to see to it that Mary and baby Katherine were provided for, Mary expected that a small, remote manor would be found for them, where they could be kept hidden away. It was a very pleasant surprise when the carriage brought them to Hanworth over a month ago, particularly when she learned that a household of servants had been engaged to see to the upkeep of the house and the grounds, and to tend to her and to baby Katherine. The allowance supplied for their needs was undeniably generous, and would keep them very comfortable.

They were not far from London, so it would be possible for people to visit her.

Joan had accompanied her, retaining her position as lady's maid and also acting as a go-between to relay her instructions to the rest of the household.

It was a sunny day, and Mary was taking advantage of the fine weather by walking outside with Katherine in her arms. One of the nursery maids followed at a discreet distance, ready to take Katherine back inside and up to her nursery if Mary indicated that this was her wish but leaving them alone until then, so that Mary could enjoy her time with her daughter.

Late spring flowers bloomed around them, giving the air a delicate fragrance.

Katherine cooed happily, her chubby legs kicking in glee when Mary found a shaded spot for them to sit, and spread the embroidered shawl on the grass for the baby to lie on. Mary could scarcely believe how much her daughter had grown in the three short months of her life. The nurse, wetnurse and nursery maids Anne had engaged all agreed that it would not be much longer before she began to roll over, and it would only be a few short months before she began to sit up.

Mary didn't know if she couldn't wait to see her daughter grow up, or if she wanted Katherine to stay as tiny and as sweet as she was now forever.

"Madam, a rider approaches." The nursery maid, whose eyes were sharper than Mary's, piped up, pointing to the road that led to the manor.

Thinking that it might be a messenger from Whitehall, sent by either Anne or her father to ask how they were faring, Mary rose to her feet, lifting Katherine up and wrapping her in her shawl. She cradled Katherine in one arm, using her free hand to shield her eyes from the sun, in the hope that she would be able to make out the livery, to discern who had sent him.

Instead of seeing a messenger, she saw a sight that made her heart swell with joy.

Charles was as handsome as she remembered.

When he saw them, he leapt down from his horse, handing the reins to a stable lad without even looking at the boy, and ran towards them. As he drew closer, Mary could see from the expression on his face that his time away, coupled with his awareness that their tryst could have cost them both their lives, had matured him. He was a man now, rather than a boy.

He kissed her, though slightly tentatively, as though he was unsure whether or not the gesture would be a welcome one.

"Forgive me, my lady... forgive me, Mary." He apologized. "My uncle saw us, and sent me away. He thought that it would be better for the Howards. If I had known about the baby, I would never have let him, I promise. I would have married you. I want to marry you... if you'll have me." He finished, abashed, hoping against hope that she would be willing to take him as her husband. As the King commanded that he was to marry Mary and be a father to their child, they would have to be married, even if Mary was so angry with him for leaving her alone that she no longer wished to be his wife, but he hoped that she could forgive him so that they could build a happy marriage.

"Of course I will." Mary said. Even if Kitty had not told her that her uncle had sent Charles to Padua, she would not have been able to doubt that he spoke truthfully once she saw the sincerity in his eyes. "There's somebody that you should meet." She shifted Katherine into a more comfortable position in her arms, tilting her so that Charles could get a better look at the beautiful baby they had made. "This is our daughter, Katherine."

"She's beautiful." Charles breathed in awe. He reached out to touch the chubby, rosy cheek but withdrew his finger in haste, afraid that the touch of a stranger might make her cry.

"You can touch her." Mary told him. Tears of joy welled in her eyes and overflowed as she watched Charles stroke Katherine's cheek, and Katherine favour her father with a gummy smile. "Katherine, this is Charles, your Papa... and my husband to be." She placed Katherine in his arms.

Seeing the adoration in Charles' eyes for Katherine as well as for her, Mary couldn't regret the fact that the birth of her daughter had put an end to any slim hope that she might one day be Queen.

She had a family of her own now, a family she had waited so long for, and she loved them.

She was happy, at last.


	40. Chapter Thirty-Nine

**_16th August 1545_ **

“Are you afraid?”

Elizabeth’s head turned sharply at her cousin’s words, the silk of her half-finished gown rustling with the movement. The seamstress kneeling at her feet exhaled impatiently as she resettled the fabric but she didn’t dare to scold her. “No.” She stated firmly, in response to Annie’s question, her tone determined. “There’s nothing for me to be afraid of.”

“But you’re getting married!” Annie objected, her eyes wide at the thought.

She knew that, one day, she would be married but her mother and father both told her that it would be a long time before she had to find a husband and that, when the time came, she would be able to meet different gentlemen and decide which one of them she wanted to marry.

Her parents got married because they loved one another, not because their parents decided the matter amongst themselves and then told their son and daughter that they had to be married, whether they wished to wed one another or not – though she knew that her mother was married to a different man before, a wealthy knight that Grandfather had chosen for her after she returned from France, and that he died before Aunt Anne became Queen, and before her mother met her father – and they wanted her to be able to marry a man she loved.

Annie had already decided that her husband would be very handsome, very kind, and very fond of horses and masques. She had yet to decide if his hair would be fair or dark.

She didn’t think that it was fair that Elizabeth had to marry somebody she had never met, especially when he was so much older than she was, and when she would have to leave England to be with him, which would that she wouldn't see much of her family once she went to France, but her mother told her that this was the way it was for a princess.

Ordinary ladies might sometimes be lucky enough to be allowed to choose their own husbands, if they were very fortunate and their parents agreed that the gentleman they wished to wed was a suitable choice, but the marriage of a princess was a matter of state. Elizabeth was to marry a French prince so that England and France would be close allies, and so France would support Harry when he became King, if another country tried to go to war against England.

“Only by proxy,” Elizabeth countered. “That’s different.”

She didn’t like to admit when she was scared, or she might have told Annie that, when her Mama came to her to tell her that she was to be married to the Duke of Orleans on the day of her twelfth birthday, she was scared at first, thinking that it meant that she would have to leave England to be his wife on the day of her wedding, but Mama explained to her that she was only to be married by proxy. The Duke of Orleans wouldn’t be present, so she would say her vows with an envoy from the French court, while an English envoy would take her place for the ceremony that was held in France for the Duke. She wouldn’t have to leave England until she was at least fourteen, so she could have time to grow up so that she would be ready to be a wife to the Duke in truth.

Over the next two years, she would have time to prepare for her journey to France, and her Mama had promised that if Annie and Mary Dudley wanted to go with her, she could bring them.

She would have a retinue of ladies with her when the time came but she wanted to have her friends with her, instead of having to go with only strangers for company. 

She knew that Annie would want to go with her, since she loved to listen to the stories that Mama and Aunt Mary told about what the French court was like when they lived there as girls and wished to see it for herself someday, to see if it was truly as wonderful as they said it was. Mary Dudley always said that she never wanted to leave Elizabeth, even to get married, and she swore that she wouldn’t mind leaving England if it meant that she could stay with her, so she would want to come too. Cathy Brandon was too young to leave England to live at the French court and, even though she was supposed to be Elizabeth's companion, she spent more time with Harry, just as Robert Dudley spent more time with Elizabeth.

Elizabeth wouldn't be sorry not to have Cathy with her, as she was just a child, not even nine yet, but she would be sorry when she had to say 'goodbye' to Robert.

“I’m glad.” Rose piped up from the floor, where she was sitting next to a basket of scraps of rich cloth that the seamstresses left for her to play with. Her governess had advised the seamstresses to bring the basket of scraps with them when they came to attend Elizabeth, in the hope that she would be content with them and wouldn’t try to meddle with the bolts of fabric laid out for Elizabeth’s new gowns, marring the fine cloth with grubby little fingers, as she had the last time the seamstresses were sent to Eltham to make new gowns for the princesses and their companions. She selected a piece of violet silk and wrapped it around her doll for a skirt, studying the effect for a few minutes before discarding the silk in favour of a piece of silver satin. “Mama said that I can have a new gown for the feast. I want a pink one. And a gold necklace.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, wondering if she was ever as young and silly as Rose was now.

She was certain that she was always wiser and more sensible than her baby sister.

Rose was too little to be allowed to attend the celebrations for more than a few minutes before returning to the nursery with Geoff and their governesses to be put to bed, since everybody at Eltham knew that they would be very cross the next day if they were permitted to stay up too late, no matter how much they wheedled. If Rose wanted new gowns, Mama would give her as many as she wanted and would even let her help pick out the fabric if she didn't choose something that wouldn't look nice on her, without it needing to be a special occasion.

Mama was always sending them beautiful presents, or bringing them herself when she came to visit, and she visited especially often now that they were preparing for the wedding.

If Rose wanted a new pink gown, she could have it, whether Elizabeth was going to be married or not... not that she needed it, when she had so many beautiful gowns that she would scarcely have a chance to wear them before she outgrew them. Elizabeth loved to wear fine gowns and jewels, as befitted a princess, and she was happy that Mama made sure that she always had as many as she could wish for, but even though Rose was only three, she loved finery even more than she did.

Rose even opted to stay indoors while Elizabeth had her new gowns fitted, instead of wanting to go outside to play with her governess, Lady Latimer, and with Geoff and his governess, Lady Bryan, who joined the twins' retinue of attendants the day Harry turned six and passed from the care of the women who had tended to him since he was a little baby to the care of the tutors who would oversee his education, as befitted the Prince of Wales. Not even the promise of feeding the ducks or seeing the horses could tempt her, so Lady Latimer stayed indoors with her.

A governess would never complain in front of the royal children but Elizabeth wondered if Lady Latimer was disappointed not to go outside, or if she was pleased to stay indoors, where she could read her book while she kept an eye on Rose, instead of having to watch her like a hawk in case she tried to hide from her, and to chase her if she and Geoff ran off. Lady Latimer was a very learned lady. She already knew more than Lady Bryan did, and Elizabeth had heard Kat say that she was studying languages and reading history in her leisure time, with the help of Doctor Cox.

Most of the other children thought that it was very strange for Lady Latimer to wish to return to the schoolroom when she was too old to have to do lessons if she didn’t want to but Elizabeth knew that most ladies had not enjoyed the same broad education that she and her companions did, especially if their fathers didn’t think that a girl needed to learn as much as a boy.

She thought that, if she wasn’t allowed to do the same lessons as any prince, she would like to continue her studies alone, to prove that she could do it.

She was just as clever as any boy could be and she saw no reason to pretend otherwise.

Elizabeth would have liked to be outdoors in the sun today instead of stuck indoors being measured and fitted but she knew that a princess must not grumble, especially in front of the common people, to whom she was supposed to set a good example.

Rose was happy to grumble if she wanted something their guardians were disinclined to let her have. Lady Latimer let her have her way today because she knew that if she was allowed to stay to watch the fitting, Rose would behave like a little angel for the rest of the day and even go to bed when she was told without a fuss instead of getting cross because she and Geoff had to go to sleep much earlier than the older children, but if she refused permission, Rose would throw tantrums and make everybody at Eltham sorry that her wishes had been thwarted.

It was astonishing to see how much noise somebody so small could make, when she wanted to.

Uncle George thought it was funny, and said that Rose was just like Mama was at that age, but Elizabeth couldn’t imagine her mother behaving like that, even as a little girl.

"Will we be coming back to Eltham after the wedding?" Annie asked.

Although Kat and Lady Bryan had yet to tell the children what plans were made for their future, they - or at least the older ones - all knew that a change was coming.

Within a few weeks, Elizabeth would be a wife in the eyes of God, so the older girls all thought that it was silly to think of her returning to the nursery after her wedding. 

The nursery was for children, not young ladies who were almost grown-ups. 

Harry was nine now, and they had overheard his tutors talking about how, one day soon, the King was likely to send him to Ludlow Castle, which was a very long way away, in Wales, because that was where the Prince of Wales was supposed to have his household when he was big enough to preside over his principality. It was meant to be practice for him, so he could get used to ruling before the time came for him to be King, since he would have a much bigger country to rule over then, and many more subjects to govern. Some lords would accompany him as his Council, and they would take care of most of the work at first but, once Harry was a few years older, it would be his job to make the decisions, although his Council would stay with him to advise him.

If Harry and the boys left for Wales, would the girls leave too or would they have to stay in the nursery at Eltham with Geoff and Rose?

"I'm sure that Their Majesties will tell you what they have planned for you when the time comes," Lady Latimer interjected. The note of reproach in her tone was a mild one but Annie knew that Rose's governess didn't think that it was proper for them to be speculating about what was to happen, especially in front of Rose and the seamstresses, so she subsided. "They will know what is best for everybody, and make arrangements. We will hear their plans for us in due course." 

Although she would not say anything to the children until she could give them definite answers to the questions they were sure to have, she, Lady Bryan, Mistress Champernowne and Doctor Cox, had discussed the question of what the King and Queen would decide they wanted to do about their children, now that the Prince of Wales and Princess Elizabeth were growing older. 

The Prince of Wales was to travel to Wales before the end of the next month, as his parents wished for him to have the opportunity to settle there before he returned to court for Christmas but, as yet, they had had no word about whether or not Princess Elizabeth would remain at court after the proxy wedding, so the Queen could help the new Duchess of Orleans learn what would one day be expected of her as a royal lady, and if she did, whether the twins would continue to reside at Eltham or if their household would move to one of the smaller royal residences, like Hatfield or Hunsdon, now that there were fewer children to be accommodated.

Given the size of Eltham Palace, and the cost of maintaining the royal children’s establishment there, it would certainly be more economical if they moved.

Lady Latimer, born Catherine Parr and known as Kate to her family and friends, had been appointed as Lady Governess to Princess Rose before her charge completed her second month of life. After the death of her second husband, she had no wish to marry again and no children of her own to care for so, when her younger sister, who had a place in the Queen's household, recommended her to the Queen as a potential governess for the youngest of the royal children, knowing that she was anxious to find an educated lady, she was glad to accept the position.

Rose was a sweet child, like her twin, although she could be stubborn when she wanted to be, and difficult to dissuade once she decided she wanted something.

Given who her parents were, the child had acquired her stubbornness honestly.

"Dolly needs a new gown, Lady Latimer." Rose announced, holding out her doll to her governess for her inspection. Although Lady Latimer thought that, when she was older, the little girl might develop an artist's eye for colours and styles, Rose was not creative when it came to names. When the Queen brought her the doll on one of her visits, the older children were eager to propose names for her, some pretty and others so ludicrous that Rose howled in protest at the thought of her new plaything being inflicted with such a name, but Rose was unable to come up with a name she liked, and eventually decided to content herself with calling her doll Dolly. Dolly's lower body was swathed in silver satin, with blue silk wrapped around her torso for a bodice, and Rose had taken off her own small pearl bracelet to serve as Dolly's necklace. "Doesn't she look pretty?"

"Very pretty, Your Highness." Lady Latimer agreed, rescuing the bracelet to return it to the exquisitely carved casket that housed Rose's jewel collection – already growing rapidly, despite her tender years – before her little charge could lose it. It wouldn't be the first time that one of the child's pieces of jewellery was lost when she used it to adorn a plaything, and forgot about it. The last time it happened, the Queen had her goldsmiths craft a replacement but Lady Latimer was able to feel her cheeks grow warm when Rose, scorning ceremony, greeted her mother with news of her missing treasure and calmly announced that she would need a new one.

"May she have one?" Rose asked coaxingly, leaning against her governess' knee and looking up at her with wide, appealing blue eyes.

"That depends, Your Highness," Lady Latimer said gravely, accepting Dolly from her charge. "Do you think that Dolly will be a good girl, and eat all of her supper?"

"Even the fish?"

Seeing the expression on Rose's face as she asked her question, Elizabeth and Annie did their best to smother a giggle.

Now that they were young ladies of eleven - almost twelve, in Elizabeth's case - they dined in the Great Hall every day. The cooks at Eltham always prepared wonderful food for them, and if there was a dish that they badly wanted to eat, Kat could usually be coaxed into sending a message to the kitchens asking that it be prepared, if Lady Bryan didn't hear of it and countermand the order. Because Geoff and Rose were still very young, they ate almost all of their meals in the nursery, and nursery fare was plain because too much rich food was bad for little children. Geoff ate whatever he was given with relish but Rose disliked boiled fish, and tried her best to avoid it, usually putting it on Dolly's plate and insisting that Dolly was the one who wouldn't eat her supper, while Rose was a good girl and never left even a scrap of food on her plate.

Elizabeth and Annie could both remember the plain fare of their earlier years so they sympathised with Rose and were amused by her efforts to avoid her least liked foods but they could imagine that persuading her to eat the wholesome fare Lady Bryan advocated for small children was a trial for Lady Latimer, who could not bend the rules for Rose even if she wanted to, not when Geoff dined with her and would be indignant if he thought that he was being cheated.

"Even the fish," Lady Latimer confirmed, hiding a smile.

Rose took a few moments to consider whether or not the bargain was worth striking. 

She and Dolly shared a loathing of boiled fish and tried to avoid it if they could, so she knew that it would be an ordeal for them to have to eat it, but Dolly would look so pretty in a new gown, especially if Rose could persuade Lady Latimer to allow her to have a hood to match. It would be weeks before she could see Mama and Papa, and have one of them instruct the seamstresses to sew a gown for Dolly, without asking for anything from Rose or Dolly in return. 

They would never try to make her eat _fish_ in exchange for a gift.

Finally, she nodded her agreement, but added a condition. "But only a very little bit." Dolly was very small, much smaller than Geoff. It would be very unfair of Lady Latimer to expect her to eat as much fish as he did.

"Very well, Your Highness," Lady Latimer agreed, knowing Rose well enough to count it as a victory. She met the gaze of the head seamstress, who nodded acknowledgement with a smile. 

It was hardly the first time that she and her assistants were called upon to craft gowns for Dolly, nor would it be the last. They would be generously recompensed for their time, and charmed by Rose, so Dolly would soon be dressed in a new gown as fine as that of any court lady.

"Thank you!" Rose beamed, delighted to have her way. "We have to look at Dolly's other gowns so I can see what she needs," she announced, running out of the room in the direction of her bedchamber, where Dolly's small chest of gowns, hoods and tiny slippers was kept. 

Lady Latimer followed, telling Elizabeth and Annie that she would send Kat to sit with them.

Once Rose and Lady Latimer were gone, Annie giggled.

"Whoever marries Rose is going to have to be the richest Prince in Christendom if he's going to buy all the gowns and jewels she wants for her and for Dolly!"

Although the seamstresses chuckled warmly at her joke, she was disappointed to see that Elizabeth didn't laugh or even smile, but sensed that she shouldn't remark on her cousin's silence.

Elizabeth was silent, gazing at the window but seeing nothing.

Annie had meant no harm or offence with her jest about Rose but Elizabeth couldn't find it funny. 

Rose was only three years old, little more than a baby. She had at least nine years of freedom and childhood left to enjoy before she had to worry about being married, even by proxy. To the best of Elizabeth's knowledge, her parents had not yet chosen a husband for Rose, although she knew that Papa wanted Geoff to marry the little Queen of Scotland, Mary, when they were old enough. Harry was going to marry the Emperor Charles’ youngest daughter, if it could be arranged, but not for at least five years. Elizabeth would be married soon, and within a few years, she would go to France to join her new husband and to learn to live in a new court with a new family, while Rose was allowed to stay at home, where she could be with Geoff and see Mama, Papa and Harry often.

It wasn't that she was frightened.

She had known since she was very small that part of her duty as a Princess of England to marry a prince or a king who would be able to be an ally for her Papa and, one day, for Harry. She wanted to do whatever she could to help her little brother when the time came for him to rule England and, even though she would rather stay with him and help him, as they had planned when they were little children and didn't understand that they wouldn't be living in the same country when they were adults, she accepted that a princess helped her family by marrying a suitable prince.

She would never dream of shirking her duty to her Papa, to Harry or to England.

She just wished that it didn't have to happen so soon.

* * *

  
**  
_4th September 1545_   
**   


Old age had caught up with Henry suddenly, but once it had him in its grasp, it did not let go.

Two years ago, it was difficult to think of Henry as a grandfather, and he seemed rather young to have a daughter as old as the Lady Mary. He seemed to be of an age to be the father of a young family, for Elizabeth to be his firstborn, not to be the father of a woman grown who had been of age for marriage years before she finally became a mother and a wife.

Two years ago, he was healthy and, aside from the injury to his leg that had never fully healed, his body was sound and he enjoyed riding and archery and dancing as much as he had in his youth, though his jousting days were past. When the children visited the court, or when they paid a visit to Eltham, he joined in their games with as much delight and enthusiasm as any child, playing the roles of hero and villain with equal gusto, and relishing every moment of their games, usually ending up with at least one of the children up in his arms as he ran around.

Anne didn't think that there was a child at Eltham who didn't adore Henry.

Even the children who were not connected to the family by blood, and who were instructed to be on their best behaviour during visits, were never shy for long before joining in the game.

Now, his hair had faded from dark brown to steely grey and his face was lined with fine wrinkles, particularly around his eyes and mouth. The pain in his leg had increased, and he had to rely on a cane to walk. His body had thickened, he tired much more easily, he was ill more frequently and, for the first time since she knew him, she could easily believe that he was ten years her senior.

For the first time since she knew him, she could easily believe that she would be a widow before she was many years older.

Few would dare to say so aloud, as it was treason to predict the death of the King, but her Uncle Norfolk confirmed that it was generally accepted that Henry would not live long enough to see Harry reach his majority, and that she would have to assume the role of Regent until her son was a man grown and could rule England in his own right. 

Even if Norfolk had not told her, Anne would have known that her Regency was viewed as a near certainty rather than a remote possibility because of the way the members of the Privy Council and other noblemen at court behaved towards her, showing her more respect and friendship than they ever had before, if they could avoid it. They all knew that the choosing of the Regency Council would be left entirely in her hands and that they could not hope to have a seat on it if they did not ensure that she knew that they could be relied on to support her.

Nobody would be allowed to hold a position of power if she could not trust them.

She could take no chances on that score.

Even if there was no risk of a party forming in support of the Lady Mary and her child, since no man in England would wish to see them on the throne due to their illegitimacy - even the Emperor and the Bishop of Rome had ceased to speak of Mary as Henry's heir after little Katherine was born and, while they were not prepared to go so far as to formally retract their claim that Anne was not truly Henry’s wife and that her children were illegitimate, they had accepted the prospect of Harry’s succession without further protest - or of the little girls that Henry's nephew, Lord Edward Brandon, Earl of Lincoln, had fathered before his death, she would still be unable to afford to allow her authority to be undermined if she was to hold the country for her son.

Her father's death last year left George as Duke of Wiltshire, and as head of the Boleyn family, also succeeding their father in his role as Lord Privy Seal.

Of all the members of the Privy Council, her brother was the one she trusted most, and he and Norfolk kept their ears to the ground, ensuring that they kept abreast of which of their fellow Council members should be counted as Anne's allies and which of them would be terrible choices for the Regency Council, men who would either try to manipulate her to serve their own ends, against the interests of their King and country, or who would betray her and her son in a heartbeat if they believed that it would benefit them to do so.

The thought of a Regency was a chilling one but, while it was painful to imagine a world without Henry in it, she knew that it was sometimes necessary, as she had to be prepared.

A day would come when Henry was gone and she had to carry on without him.

Today, however, he was here with her, and looking more animated than he had in months.

Their children never failed to bring a smile to his face, no matter how unwell he might be feeling in the weeks leading up to their visit. Whether they were travelling to Eltham or their children were coming to court to see them, their presence cheered him as nothing else could.

This visit was especially welcome, given the reason for it.

The idea of Elizabeth being of an age to marry was almost unbelievable to her parents, for whom it seemed so short a time since her birth, and the idea of her leaving England was painful but, at the same time, this marriage was a triumph for their family, and should be celebrated as one.

Anne was not told of the bull sent by the Bishop of Rome, declaring in Katherine’s favour and pronouncing Mary her father’s legitimate heir, until after she was safely delivered. For her sake, Henry treated it as a trifling matter, beneath their attention, mocking the Bishop of Rome for thinking that he could presume to command the King of England to abandon his wife and his trueborn heir so that he could live in sin with the Emperor’s aunt and see his throne pass to his illegitimate daughter but they both knew that, while the verdict made little difference to them, as Cranmer had already delivered the one that truly mattered, it would have made matters easier for them if the Bishop of Rome had not allowed the Emperor to bully him into siding with Katherine.

From the moment of Elizabeth’s birth, her legitimacy was denied by those who supported Katherine and Mary, despite the efforts made to secure her position.

She was sent to Hatfield as a tiny baby, so that she might preside over her household, as befitted the Princess of England and the then-heiress to the throne, but while Henry could see to it that their daughter enjoyed the honours due to her rank, while he could give her a household of nobly-born young ladies to attend her, and while he could have Parliament pass laws protecting the positions and rights of his wife and daughter, he could not ensure that she was accepted as legitimate by other monarchs, or make them accept Elizabeth as a bride for one of their sons.

Even King Francis, who once pledged his support to their union and who was far from displeased to see the Emperor’s aunt and cousin set aside, was reluctant to formally commit himself to a betrothal between Elizabeth and his son when the match was first proposed. Had he consented, it would have been tantamount to a declaration on his part that he viewed Elizabeth as the rightful Princess of England and her mother as the rightful Queen, a declaration that the Emperor would take umbrage at and that would also go against the verdict of the Bishop of Rome.

He initially expressed his pleasure at the idea of the match, and gave every indication that he would accept it, but yielded to pressure to change his mind, even going so far as to suggest a match between the Dauphin and the Lady Mary, as though it was an acceptable compromise. He must have known that his change of heart would cause Anne difficulty, especially when he cited the fact that the Emperor and the Bishop of Rome did not accept Elizabeth’s legitimacy as a reason why he could not accept her as his future daughter-in-law, but although she did not believe that he harboured ill will towards her, he would compromise her interests and those of her daughter in a heartbeat if he thought it necessary.

After Katherine’s death and Harry’s birth, King Francis could know that his decision to marry his youngest son to Elizabeth was a prudent one, as she would one day be the sister of the King of England, and he never again tried to back out of the arrangement.

Today, Elizabeth would become the bride of a French prince, her marriage proving to all of Christendom that the King of France believed in her legitimacy.

That was something worth celebrating.

* * *

They heard their children before they saw them.

The sound of running footsteps, childish giggles and Lady Bryan’s hissed reminders that royal children should behave themselves, particularly at court, brought a smile to Anne’s lips, one mirrored by Henry, and they barely managed to compose themselves before the doors were opened and Geoff ran into the room, his cheeks pinkened by the exercise, his blond hair falling into his eyes and his green velvet suit crumpled. He beamed at them, sunny as ever.

Lady Bryan followed her charge into the room a moment later, looking decidedly flustered. She curtsied deeply. “I apologise, Your Majesties, I was holding His Highness by the hand but...”

“It’s alright, Lady Bryan.” Anne waved away the apology, giving the governess an understanding smile. She could picture the scene all too easily. Geoff was not a boy who liked to walk when he could run, and he would never allow ceremony to keep him from running to greet his parents.

She found his enthusiasm charming, and she knew that Henry was also amused by it rather than offended by the lack of ceremony on the part of their younger son, but it wouldn’t do to say this to Lady Bryan, who worked hard to instil good manners and courtly etiquette in her charges. She had served all of their children well, and Anne would never have wanted to upset or offend her by saying anything that might suggest that her efforts were not appreciated.

Lady Bryan was mollified somewhat by the apology but she still reached out to grasp Geoff firmly by the hand, drawing him back a couple of paces while the rest of the little procession entered.

Harry led the way, escorting Elizabeth, and they were followed by Doctor Cox and Mistress Champernowne. Geoff and Lady Bryan fell into step behind them. Rose and Lady Latimer brought up the rear, the former clearly put out that her twin managed to slip away from his governess while hers was more vigilant, keeping her from joining Geoff in running ahead.

The other children at Eltham, including Edward Fitzroy, would be presented later but Henry liked to greet their own children first.

Harry released Elizabeth’s arm once he came within a few yards of his parents, making the courtly bow that Lady Bryan, and then Doctor Cox, had coached him in, while his sister curtsied. Behind them, Geoff and Rose followed their example, with a jerky bow and a slightly wobbly curtsy.

“Your Majesties,” Harry greeted them formally, his head held high, as a prince’s should be.

It was only a few months since his last visit to court but he had grown at least a couple of inches taller in that time. Even his features had changed slightly, as he lost the last of his childish chubbiness. He was going to be a tall man, perhaps taller than Henry. Anne estimated that, within another two or three years, he would be taller than Elizabeth.

“You are very welcome at court, Your Highnesses,” Henry returned the greeting with equal formality, motioning for them to rise. “I thank you for escorting the future Duchess of Orleans, my son,” he told Harry gravely, unable to keep from smiling at the look of pride on the boy’s face. Harry nodded acknowledgement of his words, then moved to embrace his mother. Henry reached out a hand to Elizabeth, to draw her towards him, taking her slender hand in his and kissing it lightly. “The Duke of Orleans is a prince to be envied by every man in Christendom,” he told her, stroking her cheek with his free hand. “Three days from now, he will be the husband of one of the loveliest and most gracious princesses God ever blessed a realm with. His gain is England’s loss.”

Elizabeth, for perhaps the first time in her young life, was unable to say anything in response.

“What about us?” Geoff demanded, unwilling to allow himself or his twin to be overlooked, even for a moment. “We’ve come to see you too!”

“So you have!” Henry agreed jovially, releasing Elizabeth’s hand so that he could turn his attention to his youngest children. “And we are greatly honoured by your presence.”

He never liked to think of Mary and her child.

He knew that Anne had taken it upon herself to see to it that they were well-provided for, and that she visited them from time to time – if what little he had overheard on the subject from the gossip of Anne’s ladies was true, little Katherine adored Anne, an irony that amused him as much as he was sure it would horrify the child’s grandmother and namesake, if she could know of it – but she never volunteered information about the visits, and he never asked her about them, or about how his eldest daughter and her family fared. Given the circumstances, he was sure that no man could blame him for wanting to keep his distance, or for being reluctant to think of himself as a grandfather when his only grandchild was a bastard but, whether he liked it or not, he was a grandfather, and he was of an age to be a grandfather at least several times over.

At his age, and after all the years he had spent praying to God to bless him with a thriving family of princes and princesses, he knew that it was a near-miracle that he was blessed with Geoff and Rose, conceived at a time when he thought that his family was already complete.

Every moment with them was to be cherished, as he could not know how much of their childhoods God would spare him to see.

He leaned back in his chair, a mischievous smile creeping to his lips as he patted the pockets of his doublet, well-stuffed in preparation for the visit. “I don’t suppose that you two still enjoy sweetmeats, do you? Of course not,” he answered his own question, “you’re far too old for them, almost grown.” He sighed regretfully, looking up to meet Anne’s eyes. “I shall have to throw them away, my dear, if there is nobody here who will eat them...”

“We will!” Geoff all but bellowed, evading Lady Bryan’s restraining hand and charging forward with Rose hard on his heels.

Henry caught Geoff around the waist before the little boy could collide with him, setting him on one of his knees before lifting Rose onto his other knee, positioning her carefully so that she was not sitting on his old injury. Experience had taught him that sitting Geoff on that leg was an invitation for excruciating pain, as he could not remain still for longer than half a minute. Once both children were settled securely on his knee, he put his arms around them. They were quick to empty his pockets of the sweetmeats he hid there for them, as he always did when they visited.

While Geoff and Rose glutted themselves on the sweet treats, and their governesses looked on in a mixture of amusement at their antics and dismay at the thought of how excitable and restless they were certain to be after so much sugar and rich food, Anne uncovered the plate of treats set aside for Elizabeth and Harry, who might consider themselves too old to climb onto their father’s lap and search his pockets for sweetmeats, but certainly not too old to accept and enjoy a treat if it was offered.

“We didn’t forget you,” Anne told them, setting the plate on the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Geoff stop eating for a moment while he inspected the contents of the plate but, once he was satisfied that the treats offered to his older siblings were no better or more plentiful than the ones for himself and Rose, he resumed eating, becoming joyously sticky.

Harry was happy to help himself to the sweetmeats, pausing only to offer them to his tutor and his siblings’ governesses, with all bar Lady Bryan accepting one before they withdrew to allow the royal family some privacy, but Elizabeth had no appetite for the treats, and left Harry to eat them all if he cared to. He was more than capable of finishing her share as well as his own.

“Is everything alright, sweetheart?” Anne asked softly, putting one arm around her daughter’s shoulders and drawing her away from the rest of the family so they could have a little privacy. Henry and the other children were happily occupied, and didn’t notice.

“Everything is fine, Mama... Mother,” Elizabeth said her voice cool but resolute. Somehow, it felt more appropriate to use ‘Mother’ rather than ‘Mama’, as she had since she first learned to say the word as a baby. Little girls called their mothers ‘Mama’ but she was no longer a little girl. Before the week was out, she would be married. She would be the Duchess of Orleans and the Duchess of Clarence instead of being simply Princess Elizabeth, as she had been all her life.

“Is there anything you’d like to talk about? We could go to my privy chamber, and speak alone, if you like.” Anne offered, suppressing her dismay at hearing her daughter exchange the childhood name for a more formal one, and wanting to ease the anxieties she was sure Elizabeth must be feeling. Even if it was a marriage by proxy, and even if it would be at least another two years before there was any question of Elizabeth leaving England to join her husband at his father’s court, it was still a big step and it must be unnerving for her.

“No thank you, Mother.” Elizabeth slipped out of her mother’s grasp, moving back to rejoin the rest of the family, not wanting to accept her offer.

She was sure that her mother meant well but what could she say to her?

Her mother was not born royal.

Even if Grandfather had considered potential matches for her when she was a young girl, he would have been looking to find an English lord to marry her so, even if she had to leave her home after her wedding, she wouldn’t be travelling very far. She would still be able to visit her father, brother and sister, and she would still see them often when they were all at court. When she had children, they would still be able to know her family, instead of being strangers to them.

In the end, she was not only able to stay in England, she became its Queen.

In the end, her mother was able to marry the man she loved and who loved her, the man she _chose_ to marry, something Elizabeth was not to be allowed the chance to do. 

Her mother would never be able to understand how Elizabeth felt so there was nothing that she could say that Elizabeth wanted to hear.

* * *

  
**  
_7th September 1545_  
**  


No effort or expense was spared for the wedding festivities.

Every lord and lady at court wore their finest clothes, many of them buying new garments in honour of the occasion, and the Great Hall glittered with fine fabrics and jewels. The Hall was festooned with garlands and adornments designed by Master Holbein for the occasion, and the tables were laid ready for the feast which would be brought up by the servers as soon as the ceremony was concluded. A rich, ruby-red carpet, embellished with gold thread, stretched down the length of the Hall, with the courtiers ranged on either side, waiting for Elizabeth’s entry.

Usually, when she entered the Great Hall to be formally received by her parents, Harry acted as her escort but today he would be waiting at the dais. She knew that Geoff and Rose would probably be nearby, in the care of their governesses, who would be ready to remove them from the Hall if it looked like they were going to make a fuss and disrupt the ceremony.

She was to walk in without an escort, with Annie and Mary Dudley following immediately behind her, then Kat and the maids of honour who attended her.

Her gown was made of blue-green satin almost exactly the colour of the sea she would have to cross to join her future husband. It was heavy, with stiff skirts and a tight bodice. Her mother had hung a necklace she vaguely remembered as one she had worn as a very little girl, barely older than Rose was now, when she was first promised in marriage to the Duke of Orleans, then the Duke of Angouleme, and her coronet glittered with diamonds and sapphires.

She kept her gaze fixed directly ahead as she was announced, ignoring the admiring murmurs of the courtiers and even the proud faces of her parents, and training her eyes on the richly canopy over the dais. She walked slowly, taking care to keep her back straight, her head high and her steps even. The last thing she wanted was to disgrace herself by tripping and falling.

She curtsied gracefully to her parents when she reached the foot of the dais.

She could hear the pride in her father’s voice as he presented her to the French dignitary who was to act as the Duke of Orleans’ proxy for the ceremony, and introduced the man as Jean de Bellay, Bishop of Bayenne. Bellay bowed low before her, smiling kindly as he told her and her parents that it was his great honour and pleasure to be presented to so lovely a princess.

She felt thankful that no more was expected from her than a small, demure smile in response to his greeting, as she did not know if she would be able to manage a more joyous expression.

Archbishop Cranmer, her godfather, presided over the ceremony, beginning by asking first her father and then her mother if they knew of any impediment that would prevent the union.

Elizabeth had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from grimacing at this. After all the negotiations necessary to organise a royal marriage, it would be astounding if an impediment could go unnoticed for so long, and even if there was an impediment, who would dare to say so at this stage in the proceedings, when she and the Duke of Orleans were almost man and wife?

Perhaps somebody had known of an impediment to her father’s union with the Lady Mary’s mother, but had not dared to say so for fear of exciting royal anger.

Once her parents confirmed that there was no impediment, Archbishop Cranmer asked her.

“I know of none,” she answered, as she was taught to. She listened with only half an ear as the Bishop of Bayenne and his entourage were asked to confirm that there was no impediment, waiting for the next question that she was to be asked.

“Are you content of your own free will and without compulsion, to marry the Duke of Orleans?”

“If it pleases my lord and father the King, and my lady and mother the Queen, I am content.” Elizabeth’s response was clear, her voice carrying in the silence of the Hall. Inwardly, she wondered if there had ever been a princess who took the opportunity to declare that it was not her wish to be married to the bridegroom chosen for her. If there was, Kat wouldn’t tell her.

“It is our will and pleasure.” Her father pronounced.

Archbishop Cranmer lifted Elizabeth’s hand and laid it in that of the Bishop of Bayenne, nodding to the man to signal that he should begin reciting the vows on behalf of the Duke of Orleans.

“I, Jean de Bellay, Bishop of Bayenne, procurator of the right high, right excellent and noble, Prince Charles, Duke of Orleans, son of His Most Christian Majesty King Francis, by the Grace of God King of France, having sufficient power to contract marriage _per verba de presenti_ with thee, Elizabeth, daughter to Henry, by the Grace of God King of England, and Anne Queen of the same, do hereby contract matrimony with thee, Elizabeth...”

The rest of his words swam over her as she watched Archbishop Cranmer, waiting for the nod that would indicate that it was her turn to make her marriage vows.

She was very clever, and had an excellent memory so she had no trouble learning her vows. She was word perfect within an hour of Kat bringing them to her to commit to memory and, despite her feelings of unease, when the time came for her to speak, she was able to recite them perfectly, without so much as a hint of hesitation.

“I, Elizabeth, first daughter of the right excellent, right high and mighty Prince and Princess Henry, by the grace of God King of England, and Anne, Queen of the same, wittingly and of deliberate mind, having twelve years complete in age this day, contract marriage with the right high, right excellent and noble, Prince Charles, Duke of Orleans, son of His Most Christian Majesty King Francis, by the Grace of God King of France, for the person of whom Jean de Bellay, Bishop of Bayenne is procurator; and I take the said Prince Charles, Duke of Orleans, unto and for my husband and spouse, and all others for him forsake during his and my lives natural; and therefore I plight and give to him in your person, as procurator aforesaid, my faith and troth.”

No sooner had she completed her speech than there was a burst of music from trumpeters.

Fortunately, Kat had warned her about this, and she was not startled by the sound.

The Bishop of Bayenne bowed low over her hand, kissing it. “ _Madame la Duchesse d’Orleans_ ,” he spoke her new title solemnly, prompting a swell of applause from the watching courtiers.

It sounded strange to her ears.

Elizabeth knew that, in a few days time, her father intended to have a second ceremony, investing the Duke of Orleans – who would, once more, be represented by the Bishop of Bayenne – with the title of Duke of Clarence but, while they lived at the French court, they would be known by their French title. They would own English estates but would visit them infrequently at best.

She would have at least two more years in England before she had to travel to France, two years that she knew would fly by more quickly than she would have believed possible when she was younger, but from now on, she would be known primarily by her new title rather than her old.

For twelve years, she was Elizabeth, Princess of England.

From now on, she was _Madame la Duchesse d’Orleans_.

She hoped that two years would be long enough to grow accustomed to it.


End file.
